Hulk Territory, Logan Homestead.
Late sunlight slanted in through the window, laying a warm strip across the scarred wooden table. Dust motes drifted in it, slow and quiet.
Logan walked over without hurry. His face was calm, unreadable. The nasty wounds the Hulk Gang had left on him last time were gone—his healing factor had done its job.
What he hadn't expected was to get up in the morning, step on a floorboard and have it crack open to reveal a stash of money someone had hidden there. Weird as hell.
Weird, but not bad.
The money from selling the pigs wasn't in yet, and the next rent for the Hulk Gang was coming up. This windfall plugged that hole nicely. His family could breathe for a while.
He lifted the cover off the plate. Steam rolled up—meat, bread, vegetables, everything hot and well made. He'd put effort into dinner today.
More than that, there'd be enough left over so the kids didn't have to count every coin.
His wife Marlene and their little girl came in, smiles on their faces. For them, this was the best moment of the day—everyone together, food on the table, no green-skinned thugs in sight.
But Logan's brow creased.
Scott—his eldest—wasn't at the table.
Damn it. Barton and that game console he brought.
Logan sucked in a breath, keeping his voice level, and bellowed toward the other room: "Dinner. Don't make me call you twice, Scott!"
"Comiiiing—"
Scott's answer dragged out, lazy and a little annoyed. He was clearly in no hurry to leave whatever he was playing.
Half a minute. No kid.
Logan just went over and pushed the door open.
Scott was glued to the screen, thumbs flying, didn't even hear his old man.
"Dinner's ready," Logan said from the doorway, a faint warning in his tone.
"…Okay, okay, Dad, I heard you."
Scott muttered, shook his head, and followed him out. Seeing the boy wasn't in full-on rebellious mode yet, Logan relaxed and sat, scooping himself a spoonful of hot soup.
His little daughter Xiaoyu was at the table too—bread in one hand, a battered comic book in the other. She nibbled while her eyes raced across the pages, totally absorbed.
Logan's casual glance caught the blurb on the back. Superheroes. Teams. Capes.
A strange feeling tugged at him.
"Where'd you get that?" he asked.
"Borrowed from Becky," Xiaoyu said without looking up. Her mouth was full so it came out muffled. She swallowed, then blinked at him. "Becky's mom said, before the bad guys took over, you were a superhero too. You were in some team. Is that true?"
"…"
Logan's head dropped a little so no one could see his face. After a long moment he said, flat, "Tell Becky's mom she's talking nonsense. There's no such thing."
His wife shot him a look—half reproach, half worry. Xiaoyu shrank her neck, realized she'd poked a sore spot, and quietly went back to eating.
"Bzzzzzz—"
A low hum rolled over the house.
Not thunder.
Something was landing.
Logan's head snapped up. His eyes went hard. He'd heard that sound too many times over too many bad years to mistake it.
The air at the table froze. Marlene gripped her hands together. Xiaoyu stopped turning pages. Scott's face tightened.
"Stay here. Don't come out," Logan said, already getting up.
He shoved the door open and stepped outside.
Wind smashed into him, cold and wild. He planted his feet and stared out over the yard.
Not far away—maybe ten, fifteen meters—the Fantastic Four's aircraft had set down.
And dropping off it… were green-skinned brutes. Tall, thick, mean. Laughing like they were arriving at a party.
Hulk Gang.
Two meters plus, every one of them. Muscles knotted, joints popping, bones like rebar under the skin. As they walked, they kept flexing their hands, cracking them just to make noise.
"I paid the rent a few days ago," Logan said, voice flat. He stepped forward, putting his body between them and the little wooden house.
"Yeah."
The fattest of the green ones—face full of pores and pimples, hair greasy and clumped, the stench of it rolling in waves—ambled to the front.
He grinned, showing a mouthful of crooked yellow teeth.
"But we figured… you were a few days late. Shouldn't there be… interest?" He jabbed a thick finger into Logan's chest.
Logan opened his mouth, then shut it again.
They weren't here for interest. They were here to have fun on the old man. Because back at the top, Old Man Banner liked to let his brood beat on the former heroes. A little petty revenge to keep the kids obedient.
"Say it, old man. Where's the interest?" the fat one yelled louder, spit spraying. Nothing felt better to him than bullying a guy who used to be famous.
No wonder Old Man Banner told them to come smack Wolverine around every once in a while. Dad was the best!
Swish—
An arrow cut the air like lightning and blew through his head.
It entered at the left temple and burst out the right, blood and brain fountaining. A harsh red line painted the snow. The green hulk's eyes bulged; his mouth opened but no sound came.
Then he toppled, hard, shaking the ground.
Silence.
Every Hulk Gang punk froze.
A few seconds later, the ugliest, hair-gelled one finally found his voice. "H-he—he ambushed the Hulk Gang! This old bastard's done!"
He didn't get to finish.
From the hill came a thunderous shout:
"Thunder Warriors—wipe out these green-skins!"
The cry rolled across the land like a detonated storm.
Then, from the ridgeline, they charged.
An entire unit in shining gold armor, surging downhill, weapons up, boots pounding, the light off their plates like a second sunset.
War had begun.
To read 30+ future chapters, head over to Patreon:
patreon.com/WhiteDevil7554