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Before setting off, Shen He had no concrete plan for how to deal with Banner—but he knew one thing: he could no longer allow the Hulk to roam uncontrolled.
Yet once he arrived, a detailed strategy slowly formed in his mind, piece by piece, based on past observations and subtle insights.
After the incident, Banner had leaped into a dense forest nearby and vanished. Government troops had sealed off the surrounding area, and the military presence was growing heavier by the hour, sending in advanced surveillance drones and enhanced personnel.
Shen He didn't bother deploying a team. Instead, he slipped into the perimeter with Jeanne by his side.
With Jeanne's clairvoyant intuition—amplified by Chaldea's sensory-enhancement protocol—it took less than twenty minutes to find Banner curled up in a shallow pit under a thicket of roots.
Banner looked abysmal. Naked and pale, his skin marked with mosquito bites and bramble scratches. But physical wounds were trivial—his mental state radiated such anguish that Shen He could feel the despair emanating from meters away.
It wasn't Hulk who suffered guilt.
It was Banner.
The devastation caused by the Hulk's rampage gnawed at Banner's conscience. He had harmed so many. The grief of living with that destruction, again and again, crushed him.
"This location is still safe," Shen He murmured, pulling Jeanne by the hand and turning away. "We'll return. I only came to assess his condition."
"That man…" Jeanne whispered with quiet pity, her gaze resting on the curled figure in the dirt. "He's lost the meaning of his life."
Shen He sighed. "It's power he was never meant to bear. He's tried to end it all before—shot himself, swallowed bullets. But Hulk always spits them out. He's a living paradox: wherever he goes, he endangers others. All he can bring is fear, rejection, and dread. That kind of hopelessness is… hellish."
To Bruce Banner, the Hulk was not a power—it was a curse.
Even Black Bolt's burden seemed lighter in comparison. The Inhuman king could never speak, but at least he had Medusa. Banner? He had nothing.
"Couldn't the Type system help him?" Jeanne asked. "Just like you helped Norman Osborn?"
"No." Shen He shook his head. "Norman… the Green Goblin is practically a demon wearing a man's skin. Hulk, though—he's just an angry child. There's still a chance for discipline. And most importantly, we need Hulk's power."
That last line carried weight. Based on archived Chaldea intelligence and potential scenario forecasts, Hulk would eventually evolve—gain emotional regulation and battlefield awareness. Killing him now would mean losing an irreplaceable weapon. A living, breathing deterrent.
Jeanne said nothing more. But she held Shen He's hand tightly, her grip radiating silent trust.
"I already have a plan," Shen He added, his tone firm now. "For both Banner and the Hulk."
Once the Hulk's coordinates were safely recorded, Shen He took Jeanne back to the local command shelter—his temporary base of operations.
He expected to remain for the night.
Frankly, the accommodations were grim. Even after multiple dispersal blasts of high-grade air purifiers, the stench of blood, sweat, and antiseptic clung to the air. For Shen He—whose enhanced senses made him acutely aware of every scent—it was unbearable. Outside the room, injured civilians groaned in pain.
But Jeanne didn't mind at all. She had endured much worse during her time as a saint and a soldier. Compared to the battlefield infirmaries of medieval France, this was luxury. She even volunteered to assist in the makeshift triage center, healing the critically wounded using Type-infused purification spells.
Eventually, Shen He took Violet and stepped outside with two field agents, both visibly unnerved by recent events.
"Sir," one agent said, his earpiece crackling. "Ten minutes ago, Yukuji Ikeda extracted his brother from the Meguro detachment. The transaction followed the pattern you anticipated. He claimed that 'monster power' originates from bloodline convergence, and some local factions made him offers."
"If someone wants to leak sensitive data to rival organizations," Shen He mused aloud, "how is it typically done?"
Though technically their commander, Shen He rarely involved himself in espionage tactics. His approach had always been more... transcendental.
"Usually," said one agent, "we infiltrate enemy networks and use controlled assets to transmit data. But there are flashier methods too. Like faking a capture, leaking info under torture, then rescuing the agent. Risky, but it happens. The Black Widow used it often—it worked for her, but most agents didn't survive the process."
Shen He listened quietly.
He hadn't realized SHIELD kept such meticulous data on mission sacrifice rates, or how they continually updated protocols to reduce fatalities.
As the agent continued chatting, Shen He found himself intrigued by the agents' lives—many had lovers, family, hidden identities. Yet they willingly threw themselves into death zones, driven by excitement or duty.
The group eventually wandered toward the outskirts of the city. The air was fresher here, the silence more complete.
Which made it ideal for an ambush.
"Father. Multiple hostiles approaching." Violet's voice was soft, but steady.
"I know." Shen He nodded.
They'd been followed since leaving the command post. He hadn't reacted immediately because, on paper, he was merely the CEO of a virtual reality tech firm—albeit one with suspiciously advanced simulation tech. That should not have drawn this much attention.
But clearly, someone knew more.
Gun-toting figures emerged from alleyways and treetops. Within seconds, they were encircled.
"Well, well. Never thought the real Mr. Shen would show up in person." A sultry female voice cut through the tension.
Shen He turned and laid eyes on their leader.
She was striking—tall and commanding. Her crimson dress peeked through a Soviet-style military coat, and a surgical scar sliced across her right eyelid. Her expression was cool and unreadable.
"Do you know me?" Shen He asked, curious.
Just from her group's insignias and dialect, he already pegged them as the Russian Mafia. But this woman wasn't just muscle—she was an officer-class manipulator.
"You're the head of a revolutionary VR enterprise. Of course we know you." Her tone was clipped, professional. "Relax. We just want some information. Nothing personal."
"Before we start," Shen He said, narrowing his eyes. "That scar of yours… did you cut it yourself?"
"…"
"Because it's overly theatrical. Right over the eyelid, but no ocular damage? Happens in every second-rate film. Statistically improbable. So, I suspect you did it for the aesthetic."
"You arrogant—!" One of her lackeys, a bloated man wielding a modified AK, stomped forward with menace.
Jeanne didn't flinch. But Violet did.
With a blur of motion, Violet launched forward. Her kick shattered the man's leg sideways, then she rammed her knife straight up through his jaw. The scream died in his throat as his tongue was split.
Shen He casually took Violet's hand and wiped the blade clean.
"You enhanced her with biotech?" the woman in uniform asked, finally rattled.
"No." Shen He's voice dropped to a low, dangerous whisper. "That's my daughter. Violet could wipe out this entire force on her own."
As if to drive the point home, a red sickle—a relic-like weapon from Chaldea's mystic arsenal—manifested in Violet's hand. The air grew heavier.
Fear flickered in the woman's eyes. She wasn't stupid. The supernatural display wasn't staged. She was now very aware that this child could kill them all—and no one would stop her.
"Let's not pretend this is a misunderstanding," Shen He continued, letting go of Violet's hand.
The sickle shimmered. In an instant, Violet appeared behind the Mafia leader, her weapon poised to decapitate.
"Question." Shen He ignored the raised firearms. "Who gave you my identity?"
"I don't know his name," the woman replied slowly. "But he had a tattoo on his wrist… and carried a long rectangular case—possibly a sniper rifle."
"Did he provoke the Hulk incident?"
"No. But he passed information to us before it happened. Said you'd be here. Then left."
Shen He absorbed the details, then signaled Violet back. The little girl ghosted to his side in a blink.
"Leak Hulk's position," he said to the Mafia leader. "Let everyone chase after him. If I see that happening tomorrow, I'll spare you. But if you run…" He let the sentence hang.
The woman shivered involuntarily. "Understood."
Only after Shen He and Violet vanished into the night did she exhale, drenched in sweat.
She'd faced warlords and cartel enforcers before. But that little girl—their weapon—was different.
There had been no hate in Violet's eyes. No passion. No bloodlust.
Just cold, silent obedience.
That was what terrified her most.
She wasn't looking at a child.
She was looking at the perfect weapon.
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