The streets of Imperial University were no longer a campus—they were a war zone.
From within the largest armored command vehicle, General Thaddeus Ross sat in cold silence, gripping a communicator as he issued terse, unyielding commands.
"Surround him from all directions. Hold the perimeter. No casualties among civilians. Do not fire until I say."
The soldiers moved like a well-oiled machine—ruthless and efficient. Armored trucks rumbled across the once-quiet lawns, their wheels tearing through sidewalks and flowerbeds. Tanks rotated into place. Sonic weapons and high-frequency EMP launchers were locked and loaded.
All of this… for one man.
But Ross had learned the hard way—Bruce Banner was not just a man.
And the Hulk was not a mistake that could be corrected. He was a force of nature. One that had embarrassed the military too many times. Not again. Not this time.
This time, Ross had come prepared—with weapons borrowed from Stark Industries, tactical formations honed over years, and political clearance routed directly through the White House. No interference from state officials. No reporters. Just quiet authorization to remove a threat.
But even with all that power arrayed before him, Ross couldn't shake the tension in his chest.
He had to win.
From the opposite side of the makeshift battlefield, Betty Ross moved with sudden purpose.
She turned to Bruce, her hands trembling. "Go. Now."
Before he could object, she was already sprinting into the path of the approaching command vehicle, flinging herself forward with reckless abandon.
"STOP!" she screamed, arms outstretched, standing directly in the vehicle's path.
Inside the armored cabin, soldiers hesitated. Every man in the vehicle knew exactly who she was—General Ross's daughter—but no one dared make a decision. Their orders were clear: do not stop unless Ross says so.
One more second.
Two.
Then—"STOP." Ross barked, slamming the door open with a metallic clang.
The vehicle screeched to a halt just feet from Betty.
Ross stepped out, eyes like carved steel, not sparing her even a glance. "Report. Positions."
Around him, the Imperial University grounds had transformed into a battlefield. Riflemen in full tactical gear held positions near the BioScience building. Tanks flanked the quad. Drones buzzed overhead. Students had long since been evacuated or forced into lockdown zones.
Betty hurried to her father's side. "Dad, please—you can't do this. Let him go!"
His response was a grimace—a man torn between duty and blood.
"You don't understand the stakes," he muttered. "You never did."
"I understand perfectly," she shot back. "You're not after justice—you want to use him!"
Ross's silence said everything.
In truth, it was already too late. Too many gears had begun to turn. The moment he'd deployed military units on American soil, the mission had to end with results. Failure wasn't just a black mark—it was a career death sentence.
But capturing Bruce Banner wasn't just political. It was personal.
General Ross turned to the side. "Detain her. Get her out of here."
Two soldiers moved in.
"No! Dad—don't!" Betty shrieked, twisting as they grabbed her arms.
She fought, pleaded, begged. "Please! You don't know what you're doing!"
But the general wouldn't look at her. His eyes were locked onto a signal coming in through the comms.
"General. Visual contact. Subject's on the library overpass."
Across campus, Bruce Banner sprinted along the narrow library bridge—his breaths shallow, eyes frantic.
He knew this campus well. The overpass would lead him to a second building. If he could just make it through the Bioinformatics Hall, there was a path westward—through the perimeter, across the road, and into the Hudson River.
Escape.
But Ross had already seen the play. His troops were in place.
"Seal the doors on both ends. Iron chains. No entry, no exit. He doesn't get out."
Bruce reached the far end—locked. He turned. The other side—also locked. Then came the mechanical click of rifles.
And the silence.
Ross issued the next order with precision. "No lethal force. Deploy gas. Isolate the Hulk."
Two silver canisters were launched in arcs—clattering across the bridge floor.
With a hiss, the space was consumed by thick, white vapor.
And for a moment... all was still.
No shouting.
No struggling.
Just the mist curling along the overpass like the breath of some slumbering beast.
Then came the first crack. A scream, wet and sharp, before it was swallowed by silence.
Then—BOOM!
A massive green palm smashed against the glass of the overpass, shattering the reinforced barrier with ease.
The roar that followed was inhuman—primordial.
Glass exploded outward.
And through the smoke and broken steel, the Hulk stepped into the open air.
Betty could hardly breathe.
This wasn't the same Hulk she'd seen before.
That version had some trace of Bruce—rage, yes, but with flickers of self-awareness. Now... there was only fury.
No hesitation.
No restraint.
The Hulk leapt, crashing down into the grass. Soldiers scrambled, running for cover, their formation shattering like glass underfoot.
He was nearly three meters tall, a living mountain of sinew and rage. Green skin pulsed over muscle and tendon, and his face—still eerily familiar to Betty—was twisted into something far more beast than man.
All around, others were watching.
Above the battlefield, a red-and-gold silhouette hovered at high altitude—Tony Stark, silently monitoring the chaos with a frown.
Within a nearby high-rise, Peter Parker watched through a cracked window, heart hammering in his chest. He could feel it in his bones—the pull, the danger, the responsibility—but even he wasn't stupid enough to jump into a war zone filled with tanks and rifles.
On a distant rooftop, a figure in deep maroon robes stood in the shadows— Drum Master of the Mystic Arts. He did not intervene, but his eyes glowed faintly with ethereal symbols, observing quietly.
Across the city, satellites locked their lenses in place. In the Pentagon, red lights blinked. In SHIELD's central hub, Nick Fury narrowed his one eye at the rising monster on his screen.
"We've got a situation."
Back on campus, General Ross did not flinch.
He raised his voice over the comms.
"All units—hold fire. Await confirmation on Phase Two."
He knew what the next moments would decide.
He could kill Hulk.
Maybe.
But killing Hulk wouldn't bring lasting control. A corpse couldn't give them repeatable samples. Couldn't make an army.
He didn't need death.
He needed dominion.
Beside him, Betty stood frozen. Her eyes filled with tears as she whispered to herself.
"Bruce…"
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