Betty finished smoothing the front of Banner's button-down shirt, tucking the last bit of fabric neatly into his pants. She stepped back, tilting her head to examine her work. "There. Much better."
A small, genuine smile touched Banner's lips. "Thanks."
Their eyes met, and for a quiet second, the afternoon air felt calm, the campus noise a distant hum. Then, Banner's expression froze. His smile evaporated. His gaze had focused on something over Betty's shoulder, his eyes widening slightly. He went rigid. The color drained from his face.
Betty's own smile faded. She started to turn, reaching for him. "What's wrong?"
"They're here." Banner's voice was a dead-flat monotone, devoid of all the warmth from a second ago. It was the calm, hollow sound she'd learned to fear.
Betty spun around. Dark green military vehicles were rolling across the manicured lawns, their heavy tires tearing up the grass.
Banner's hands gripped her shoulders, his fingers digging in with urgent, bruising strength. "Betty, listen to me very carefully. Get as far away from me as possible. Now."
"Bruce, I don't..." She looked from his pale, sweating face back to the approaching soldiers.
"Stop talking! Go! Just go!"
He released her, giving her a small shove in the opposite direction. Then he sprinted, not toward the parking lot, but toward the empty athletic field. If he was going to transform, he had to do it away from the buildings. Away from the other students. Away from Betty.
The heavy military vehicles roared into the campus square, their engines drowning out all other sounds. Soldiers, clad in black tactical gear, poured out before the trucks had even stopped, fanning out in a practiced, precise perimeter. Armored vehicles, light tanks, and the specialized, bulky sonic cannons rolled into position, their weapons tracking the running figure.
In the command vehicle, General Ross watched Banner flee across the field on a monitor. He swore, his fist hitting the console. "Damn it! The snipers won't be in position for another three minutes. Who the hell broke protocol?"
Someone had spooked Banner early. Now this whole operation was going sideways.
Blonsky's voice crackled over the radio, sharp and clear. "He's headed toward sector 270."
Banner saw the line of soldiers closing in from every direction. He cut hard to the left, angling toward a gap in their formation. He led them on a winding, desperate chase through the wooded area at the edge of campus, branches scratching at his face and clothes.
Ross keyed his radio, his eyes fixed on the display. "Blonsky, watch your distance. Don't push him."
Through his binoculars, Ross could see Blonsky suddenly stop, pulling up short. The regular soldiers running behind him took several seconds to catch up, their lungs burning. Even with his enhanced physique, Blonsky was visibly restraining himself, holding back his full, unnatural speed.
"Sir," Blonsky's voice came through, tight with impatience. "Best chance is to hit him with tranquilizer rounds before transformation."
Banner burst through a side entrance into the library, his sneakers squeaking on the polished floor. The sudden silence was jarring, broken only by his ragged breathing. Soldiers flooded in the doors behind him, their boots clacking loudly on the tile.
He ducked behind a tall row of shelves, the scent of old paper and bookbinding filling his nose. He fumbled in his pockets, pulling out the two items. The Dragon Ball. The USB drive. All his research. He glanced at the sound of shouting. No time.
Banner gritted his teeth, tossed the small, plastic USB drive into his mouth, and swallowed. It was dry, scraping painfully down his throat, but it went down. It was small enough to manage.
The Dragon Ball, though, is perfectly smooth and hard. He tried to fit it in his mouth, but it was impossible. He couldn't swallow it. He couldn't hide it anywhere on his body that they wouldn't immediately find.
Finally, Banner stuffed the Dragon Ball into his thin canvas bag and looped the strap around his neck. It wasn't ideal, but he was out of options.
He ran again.
"Target spotted!" A soldier's shout echoed through the quiet library stacks.
Outside, Betty pushed through the cordon of military personnel, ignoring their commands to stay back. She saw her father's mobile command vehicle and ran, throwing herself in front of it just as it began to move. She spread her arms wide.
"Stop!"
The vehicle halted with a hiss of air brakes.
Betty pounded on the armored door with both fists, the impacts sounding dull against the thick metal. "I know you're in there! Please, General!"
Inside, Ross stared at the monitor showing his daughter's furious, desperate face. His jaw worked silently.
The sergeant beside him cleared his throat, uneasy. "Sir?"
"Dad!" Betty's voice, muffled but sharp, cut through the metal walls.
That word. That particular word. Ross's resolve cracked. He hit the button to open the door and stepped out onto the grass.
Betty rushed to him immediately. "Dad, please. Let him go."
"You don't understand." Ross's face was a mask of cold duty. He gestured for two soldiers to escort her away. "Get inside. Where is he?" This last question went to his communications officer.
"Target is on the covered bridge between buildings. Awaiting orders."
Ross grabbed his radio. "Do not attack! I repeat, do not engage the target!"
He wasn't protecting Banner. He was protecting his soldiers. Any serious attack would trigger the transformation, and then they'd be facing the Hulk.
Soldiers in full gear sealed both ends of the long, glass-walled covered bridge. Banner stood trapped in the middle, a perfect target. He could see gunmen positioned on every nearby rooftop, the afternoon sun glinting off their scopes.
"He's contained on the bridge."
Banner turned in a slow circle, counting at least a dozen assault rifles aimed at his head. His heart rate was a frantic drum against his ribs. He could feel the Other Guy stirring, pounding at the walls of his mind.
"Deploy sleep gas," Ross ordered.
Several soldiers loaded grenade launchers with specialized, non-lethal canisters and positioned themselves beneath the bridge.
Thump. Thump.
Two grenades shattered the large glass panes on either side of Banner. Thick, white smoke immediately poured into the enclosed space.
Banner ripped off his jacket and pressed it over his mouth and nose, but he knew it was futile. The gas was already surrounding him, seeping into his lungs with a chemical bite.
Movement at the end of the bridge caught his eye. Betty. She was trying to push past the soldiers, screaming his name. Two of them grabbed her, forcing her back.
Something inside Banner snapped.
His vision tinged green at the edges. His muscles began to swell and split his shirt. The canvas bag's strap dug deep into his neck as his body expanded with terrifying speed.
The Hulk emerged with a roar that was pure, physical force, shaking the entire structure.
Several sergeants equipped with scouters cried out. Their eyepiece devices whined, the digital readouts climbing past one hundred fifty points before overloading. The lenses popped in showers of sparks and acrid smoke.
Ross winced at the reports of destroyed equipment. Those scouters weren't cheap.
The Hulk took one thundering step forward. The remaining glass walls exploded outward in a shower of glittering shards. Metal support beams twisted and groaned under the strain.
"Now you understand," Ross muttered, looking at his daughter's horrified, pale expression.
The Hulk wore only his special, tattered stretch pants. Everything else had been shredded during the transformation. The canvas bag still hung around his massive, green neck, somehow intact.
Betty stared in shock, her hands over her mouth. That green... monster... was Bruce. The man she loved had become this thing.
Soldiers started dragging her to safety, but her eyes never left the creature on the bridge.
The Hulk roared at the assembled military force, a wave of sound that sent men staggering. Fury radiated from every massive muscle. These people kept attacking him. Kept trying to hurt him. Made Banner scared.
Then the Hulk noticed the bag around his neck. The strap was uncomfortably tight. He ripped it off and dumped the hard, orange object into his palm.
He squeezed.
His massive fist clenched tight enough to crumple steel. He opened his hand. The Dragon Ball sat in his palm, completely unchanged.
The Hulk roared in frustration and squeezed again, harder. His entire hand shook with the effort. The veins on his arm stood out like cables. The Dragon Ball remained perfectly, stubbornly intact.
"What did he pull out of that bag?" Ross asked over the radio.
"Can't see clearly, sir. It's in his hand."
The Hulk stared at the indestructible object. It mocked him. Refused to break. Refused to be destroyed.
Fine.
If he couldn't destroy it, he'd throw it so far away no one would ever find it again.
The Hulk pulled his massive arm back, muscles coiling like overloaded springs. He roared again, a sound of pure negation, and hurled the small orange sphere with every ounce of his tremendous strength.
The Dragon Ball shot into the sky like an artillery shell, a tiny orange dot moving with impossible speed. It left a white contrail that cut straight through the high clouds, shrinking to a pinpoint and then vanishing over the horizon. The crack of its sonic boom echoed back down to the campus seconds later.
Somewhere miles away, the Dragon Ball would come down. But by then, the Hulk would be long gone.