"You… you just calmed him down?" Bruce Banner asked again, a fragile spark of hope battling the lifetime of fear in his eyes. He sat up fully, pulling the blanket around himself. "Professor, if you can do that—even temporarily—can you teach me how to? Teach me to quiet the beast inside?"
Charles Xavier maintained his gentle, penetrating gaze, his mind sensing the turbulent seas of fear and intellectual chaos churning beneath Bruce's surface. "Of course, Bruce. That is precisely why you are here. We can help you learn to coexist with him. However, you must understand a fundamental truth right now: he won't disappear. He is an intrinsic part of you now. The journey is not about separation; it's about acceptance."
Bruce recoiled slightly at the word. The memory of the hounds, the scent of Betty's scarf, and the sheer, brutal joy of the destruction he witnessed through green eyes made him physically shudder. "But… he's a monster! A weapon! How can I possibly accept him? Everything he does is destruction. He took my life from me!"
"I can sense the truth, Bruce, even if your fear masks it," Charles insisted, his voice unwavering. "He is not a separate entity that invaded your body; he is a part of you that has only recently awakened to a colossal, terrifying power. You are two sides of a single, highly stressed coin. Until you stop rejecting him completely, until you stop seeing him as a disease to be cured, you will never gain control. Communication must precede coexistence."
Charles paused, a subtle invitation hanging in the air. "If you want to communicate with him, you need to first acknowledge him. Give him a name. Something that recognizes his existence."
Bruce looked away, his jaw clenched, sifting through the terrifying echoes in his mind—the screams, the missile fire, the immense, unstoppable momentum. Then, the name came, visceral and immediate, the very word the monster had seemed to roar at the world.
"Hulk," Bruce blurted out, the single syllable a mix of recognition and dread.
A genuine, warm laugh escaped Charles. "See? You already communicate. You know him well enough to name him." Charles beamed at him. "You've taken the first, hardest step, Bruce. Relax. You're safe here for now. You can stay as long as you need to."
"But Betty…" Bruce's relief instantly evaporated, replaced by frantic anxiety for his girlfriend. "General Ross, my father, those mercenaries—they're all looking for her now. I need to get back to her. I have to protect her."
"And by rushing back now, completely uncontrolled, what are you most likely to do?" Charles asked gently, but pointedly. "You will cause a fresh wave of destruction, bring the military down on her location, and put her in greater danger. You, the green form, are the epicenter of the storm. Only when you can harness and control this power—only when you can guarantee the safety of your surroundings—can you truly minimize the trouble and threat to Betty."
Bruce fell silent, the logic of the Professor's argument crushing his reckless urge to run.
"Where… where is this place?" Bruce asked after a moment, his scientific curiosity finally cutting through his fear. He looked directly into Charles's eyes, the inherent skepticism of the highly intelligent man surfacing. "Who are you, really? And are you going to study me too? Like Ross, like my father?"
Charles shook his head slowly, a reassuring gesture. "You are at the Xavier Academy for Gifted Youngsters. The children here are unique, just like you, in that they possess abilities that the world doesn't understand or tolerate. You can call us the Mutant Academy. We don't study people here, Bruce. We are all just as lost and blindly groping our way forward to understand and control our own gifts."
"Am I a mutant, then?" Bruce asked, a flicker of understanding dawning as he pieced together the news reports and his own vast knowledge of biology and genetics. He knew the research—the X-gene was the subject of much debate and fear.
Charles sighed, a note of genuine, professional regret in his voice. "That is where the public and I diverge. The world has already defined you as a mutant, or at least a mutative monster. And truth be told, I truly wish you were one of us." He paused, his tone shifting to one of scientific honesty. "But you are not. You lack the X-gene. Your transformation is the result of extreme genetic alteration and a massive gamma radiation trigger. However, in the only measure that matters—the destructive potential you have shown—you are already stronger than most mutants, both in raw power and in terrifying, almost limitless potential."
"Do your mutants also lose consciousness and have it replaced by another self when they use their abilities?" Bruce asked, his voice raw with the fear of relinquishing control.
Bruce's question brought a heavy silence to the room. Charles's mind immediately focused on a specific, powerful, and deeply loved student. It was a situation that few in the world, even in the mutant community, understood fully.
"Only a tiny, unfortunate percentage of mutants experience anything remotely similar to what you are experiencing, Bruce," Professor Charles admitted, regaining his composure. "This dissociation—this change in personality—happens because they cannot handle the sudden, overwhelming magnitude of the power they are accessing."
He couldn't lie, but he chose his words carefully. "I can't tell you who she is, for her safety and yours, but yes, there is one young woman here who has faced a similar struggle. An alternate, overwhelming consciousness. And she has achieved a stable coexistence, essentially mastering her other self through sheer mental discipline and training."
Bruce's face, haggard and worn, broke into a determined, almost fierce expression. "Then, there is hope! If another person can do it—if she can achieve control over an equally formidable force—then there's absolutely no reason why I, with seven doctoral degrees, can't manage this!" The sheer force of his intellectual will seemed to momentarily outshine the lurking shadow of the Hulk.
Charles nodded, though he withheld the crucial detail: the Phoenix Force within Jean Grey had been sealed by a mental cage Charles himself had built when the power was still relatively weak. The Hulk's awakening was too violent, too public, and too late for such an easy solution. Now, the raging Hulk was fully awake, and his encounters with the military had made him wary of all authority figures—including powerful telepaths. Calming him down had been a monumental effort.
"Exactly, Mr. Bruce. Focus on that spirit. Now, please get some rest. There are plenty of resources here—both scientific and metaphysical. If you need anything, let us know. You're also welcome to wander the academy grounds. With your breadth of knowledge, I'm certain you could teach the children some fascinating new things."
Charles smoothly reversed his wheelchair and moved toward the door, leaving Bruce Banner alone, finally free to seriously contemplate his own monstrous existence and the possibility of integrating his two selves.
As Charles rolled silently down the hallway, he encountered Scott Summers, code-named Cyclops, waiting for him with a concerned, slightly disapproving expression.
"Professor, since he's not a mutant, why did you go to so much trouble to bring him here? We have enough problems with the world viewing us as the threat without bringing in a seven-foot-tall green wrecking ball the US military can't stop," Scott asked, his voice low with concern for the safety of the students.
Charles stopped, his expression darkening slightly with political calculation. "Scott, my boy, tell me—in the terrified eyes of the human government and the media, what difference is there between him and us? Even without the X-gene, his level of genetic mutation and the sheer terror he inspires makes him a mutant in the public's mind, and they have labelled him as such."
"But he's too much of a threat to the school! You saw the footage of him against the tanks!" Scott insisted, worried about the destructive potential being housed so close to his friends and students.
"And in the eyes of ordinary people, aren't we also a great, existential threat?" Charles countered, a faint, almost pitying smile touching his lips. "Besides, look at his confusion. His fear. His self-hatred. How is that any different from the raw, dangerous fear of discovering their powers that our children felt back then, Scott?"
Scott remained confused but dropped the argument. He knew better than to question Charles when he entered this mode.
Charles's reason for bringing Bruce Banner here was less about immediate humanitarian aid and more about a strategic political demonstration. He wanted to use the Hulk as a giant, green bargaining chip.
The US military had failed miserably to neutralize the Hulk, confirming that the monster was an escalating, global threat. Yet, here he was, resting peacefully under the protection of the Xavier Academy for Gifted Youngsters. Charles needed to prove to the human government the profound, stabilizing value of the Mutant Academy: Even the monsters you cannot contain, we can. The threats you create, we neutralize. Therefore, shouldn't you consider changing your bigoted stance toward the mutant community?
The presence of the Hulk would serve as a powerful testament to the Academy's authority and stability, making the school too valuable to attack or shut down. Furthermore, Charles needed a distraction. The recent media flare-up, labeling the Hulk a mutant and stirring anti-mutant sentiment, was a deliberate test orchestrated by human adversaries.
"Raven won't be able to hold back her own actions for much longer, will she?" Charles mused, mostly to himself, a heavy resignation in his tone. "The humans have successfully sent out their new signals, probing the limits of our tolerance."
He slowly closed his eyes, his vast mind reaching out, sweeping across the planet until it located the cold, silent plastic prison holding Erik Lehnsherr, the Master of Magnetism.
In that distant, subterranean cell, a prison guard's eyes suddenly glazed over—a temporary casualty of a subtle, powerful telepathic suggestion from a shapeshifting master. The guard's mind was manipulated, given a series of simple, seemingly random tasks that would eventually, subtly, lead to a momentary, exploitable lapse in the facility's security protocols.
Magneto, resting with his eyes closed, seemed to feel the brief, focused pulse of mental energy—the unmistakable signature of his old friend, Mystique, who was using her powers and contacts to initiate his escape. He opened his eyes, a familiar, predatory smile touching his lips as he looked at the bewildered guard. He knew his day of release—and the glorious chaos it would bring—was very, very close. The war for mutant supremacy was about to begin again.