Afternoon, Midtown High School
Ding-ling-ling—!
As soon as the bell rang, before Peter Parker even had time to stand up from his seat, Damian had already blurred into motion and dashed out of the classroom.
"Huh? What the heck just zoomed by? Z—?"
Peter's hands hung midair as he stared in amazement at his friend vanishing down the corridor in an instant.
"What's gotten into him? Is he in a rush to meet his girlfriend?"
Gwen Stacy approached, textbook tucked under her arm, eyebrows raised.
Peter shook his head firmly. "Impossible! I've known that guy forever, and I've never seen him talk to a girl—not even the cashier at the bodega downstairs! He definitely doesn't have a girlfriend."
Gwen gave him a look of mild disdain, then glanced down at her own feet.
Well… the view's clear. Nothing blocking it.
She'd always felt like Peter cursed her a lot—but she could never prove it.
Gritting her teeth, Gwen turned toward the window and said, "You never know. Some people seem like total nerds on the outside… but who knows what they're up to in secret?"
Peter followed her gaze—and froze.
Outside, Damian was nimbly scaling the school's outer wall, drawing gasps and shouts from students below.
From Peter's perspective, Gwen's eyes looked… admiring.
Oh no. This isn't good! Peter thought. If Damian's winning over Gwen, I'm in trouble!
...
Meanwhile, West Midtown, Manhattan
Outside a nondescript gray building, a bright yellow police cordon stretched for three blocks. Twelve M1126 Stryker armored vehicles formed a tight perimeter, their remote weapon stations trained on the structure at the center.
Elite tactical operatives in black combat gear occupied rooftops and high vantage points, their HK416 rifles fitted with SHIELD-issued tranquilizer rounds.
"Heart rate stable at 120, blood pressure normal. Subject remains sedated."
A military medic glanced at the biometric display and keyed his radio.
Beside him, Bruce Banner lay strapped to a stretcher with five carbon-fiber restraints. The lean physicist, glasses askew, kept his eyes tightly shut. The monitoring band on his wrist emitted a steady, urgent beep-beep-beep.
"Load him onto the chopper—now!"
The command came from Thaddeus Ross. The veteran general—gray at the temples, crisp in his Air Force lieutenant general's uniform, medals glinting in the sunlight—stood with arms crossed, jaw set.
At his order, six soldiers hoisted the stretcher and hurried toward the CH-53E "Super Stallion" transport helicopter idling at the edge of the cordoned zone.
Clatter—
The rotor wash whipped the caution tape into a frenzy, and soldiers formed a human barrier to block onlookers' cellphone cameras.
At the building's entrance, Betty Ross emerged, supported by two female MPs. Her white lab coat was smeared with blood, her blonde hair matted and clinging to her pale cheeks.
"Betty, I—" General Ross stepped forward, voice softening.
She snapped her head up, blue eyes blazing. "Are you happy now? Turning him into a lab rat again?"
"He was always the military's asset," Ross shot back. "We funded your research—yours and Bruce's—to achieve this breakthrough. What's wrong with reclaiming what belongs to the United States?"
He straightened, voice hardening. "And don't pretend this is just about science. I'm doing this for the country—for public safety. To stop that monster, the Hulk, from hurting innocent people ever again."
His eyes locked onto hers.
"People like you."
General Ross lowered his voice and explained to Betty Ross in an extremely earnest tone.
However, Betty shook off the female soldier's hand and walked straight toward the helicopter.
As she passed her father, she stopped and said in a voice so soft that only the two of them could hear:
"You made him a fugitive. I will never forgive you for what you did to Bruce today."
General Ross's expression froze. He watched his daughter board the helicopter, his fists clenching unconsciously until his knuckles turned white.
At that moment, in the laboratory upstairs, Major Al rested his hands on the metal table, his sharp eyes fixed on the man across from him—Dr. Stern.
"Again, Dr. Stern," he said, his voice calm and firm, "can you create more monsters like the Hulk?"
His eyes pierced the short, stocky man across the table.
Four fully armed soldiers stood silently behind Stern, the muzzles of their M4A1s slightly lowered—but their fingers remained on the trigger guards.
Stern pushed up his glasses; the lenses reflected a cold light, obscuring his flickering eyes.
He spread his hands helplessly, his face showing a mixture of resignation and frustration, and said in a weary tone:
"How is that possible! Just as you said—how could a short, stocky guy like me create such a terrifying monster? The Hulk is the result of countless accidents and coincidences—an anomaly!"
Hearing this, Major Al narrowed his eyes and said thoughtfully:
"So… it's still theoretically possible to create another Hulk, isn't it?"
"It's theoretically feasible," Stern began, "but more clinical studies are needed—"
"Bang!"
The laboratory door was suddenly kicked open with violent force, cutting Stern off mid-sentence.
Blonsky flashed in like a ghost, his movements almost inhumanly fast.
The three soldiers nearest the door had barely raised their rifles when they were struck down almost simultaneously—one by a knife hand, another by an elbow strike, the third by a knee to the gut.
Before their bodies hit the floor, Blonsky had already snatched a rifle from one of them and smashed its butt into the faceplate of the fourth soldier.
"Blonsky! Are you insane?!"
Major Al shouted, his hand already on the pistol at his waist.
But Blonsky gave no reply. In a blur of motion, he lunged forward and struck Major Al's carotid artery with a precise, powerful palm strike.
Al's pupils dilated instantly, and his body slumped limply to the ground.
The entire assault lasted no more than five seconds.
"So much nonsense," Blonsky muttered.
He turned, leveled the black muzzle of the rifle directly between Stern's eyebrows, and growled in a cold, hoarse voice:
"Whatever you did to Banner—I want you to do the same experiment on me. Make me as powerful as that monster… the Hulk."
His eyes glittered with madness.
Stern's glasses slipped to the tip of his nose, but he made no move to adjust them. Instead, a strange smile slowly curled at the corner of his mouth, and his voice turned suddenly eager:
"Oh? You've seen the Hulk? Judging by your look—you must have! You're fascinated by his strength, his body… his power, aren't you?"
Blonsky nodded, but the gun never wavered. "Yes," he said coldly. "I've seen it—the kind of godlike power he wields. So do it. Now. Immediately!"
"Crash!"
Stern shot to his feet so abruptly that the muzzle of Blonsky's rifle trembled. Yet Stern didn't flinch. With a wide, unsettling grin, he declared:
"Follow me!"