The Hulk stood exposed, a wild storm of rage and destruction. His roar tore through the air like an ancient battle cry, each surge of muscle and thunderous stomp shaking the ground beneath him. He wasn't a monster—he was pure, unfiltered violence in flesh.
From the shadows up in the clocktower rafters, Daniel narrowed his eyes.
His gaze first caught Betty Ross, frozen beneath a flickering streetlamp. Her eyes were wide with shock and pain—the last flicker of hope in her heart snuffed out like a candle in a storm.
Quietly, Daniel murmured, "General Ross… you really are a master manipulator."
Ross had executed his plan with brutal finesse: provoke the Hulk's deepest fury right in front of the one person clinging to the hope he could still be saved.
Daniel had seen this tactic before—tear down the monster to shatter the ties of sympathy.
But he didn't buy it.
Betty might be shaken, but emotions run deeper than fear. People like her—brilliant, driven by empathy—often hold on tighter when pushed away. If the Hulk showed even the slightest sign of Bruce's soul, she would rally behind him all the more fiercely.
Daniel took a sip from a flask tucked beneath his collar, eyes fixed on the chaos below. What happened next was the true test.
On one side: raw chaos, a living weapon powered by rage. On the other: the United States military—armed with decades of planning, billions in funding, and gear borrowed from genius minds like Tony Stark's.
Daniel needed to see how far they'd go, how well they'd fight. Sooner or later, that might be him they came after.
Then the calm shattered.
The Hulk charged—roaring like a force of nature—teeth bared, muscles coiled like steel cables ready to snap.
"OPEN FIRE!" came the command.
Bullets flew in a deafening hail of gunfire, whistling through the air like angry hornets. But the Hulk didn't slow. His green skin shrugged off the small-arms fire like drops of rain on iron.
General Ross watched impassively from his command vehicle.
"Alpha Squad. Engage."
From a hidden southern ridge, Alpha Squad appeared—ghosts in the trees—with weapons unlike any standard rifles. High-velocity rounds designed specifically to wound the Hulk without killing him. Ross didn't want to destroy the beast—he wanted to control it.
Alpha Squad's volleys landed harder. The Hulk roared in pain, staggered, and shifted course—heading northeast, trying to escape the worst of it.
But… something was off.
"He's not coming right into the trap," said the comm operator.
Ross ground his teeth. "Where's the 50mm cannon?"
Behind the lines, a vehicle stirred. Its massive 50mm rotary gun whined as it powered up.
"Engage. Drive him north!"
The cannon spat thunderous bursts that slammed into the Hulk's torso and shoulders, staggering him. The beast snarled, frowned, slammed fists into the ground—and charged sideways, smashing into the armored vehicle.
The vehicle flipped end-over-end, and crashed hard, but didn't explode. It landed upright, battered but whole.
Daniel smirked. "Resilient design."
The Hulk wasn't finished. He veered west, toward the Hudson River—and freedom.
From the campus woodland, another squad opened fire. Bullets barely slowed the green giant, who bulldozed through like a furious storm.
Then—pain. A sharp sting in his back.
The overturned vehicle was moving again, chasing, biting with renewed gunfire. The rounds hurt, though they didn't pierce his skin.
Instead of fleeing, Hulk leapt—more than five meters—and landed beside the vehicle. With both hands, he ripped it from the earth and hurled it like a meteor at a squad of soldiers. Some dove for cover; others never got up.
Betty covered her mouth, stifling a scream. Blood soaked the ground.
This wasn't Bruce anymore.
And the conflict was dangerously escalating.
Panting, furious, Hulk saw more targets—soldiers near a transport convoy—and charged again. One truck, then another, went flying like toys. Tires exploded. Pavement cracked.
Some young soldiers began to panic—they weren't trained for this level of force.
Ross saw the fear in their eyes.
"Blonsky. Your turn."
A calm voice came from the jungle. "Copy that, General."
Emil Blonsky stepped forward.
Not the biggest or strongest—but the most dangerous soldier in Ross's arsenal.
While others flinched, Blonsky grinned.
He grabbed two custom grenades and lobbed them with deadly precision.
Boom! Boom!
The explosions tore into Hulk's back, opening cuts, drawing green blood.
The beast roared, grabbing a smashed car door as a shield.
Blonsky didn't stop.
He darted forward like a wild predator—fast, fluid, merciless. His team's gunfire covered his assault. He bounced off Hulk's knee, struck his chin with a heel, then stomped his throat.
The Hulk staggered, actually hitting the ground—a rare sight.
Daniel leaned forward, intrigued. "Now that's impressive."
Blonsky emptied his pistol into Hulk's face, aiming for eyes and ears.
The shots hurt. Hulk snarled, flinched—but refused to fall.
Daniel analyzed the move. "Comparable to Rogers fresh out of the chamber—but no shield, no backup, limited time window."
Still, the serum was working. Blonsky was a success—and if they had more like him, that could be a serious problem.
The fight grew more intense.
Hulk swung car doors like war hammers. Blonsky dodged and danced, taunting and pulling him north.
Then Ross gave his order.
"Lead him to the sonic cannons."
Blonsky wasted no time. He sprinted through debris and into the trees.
Hulk roared and thundered after him.
"Prepare firing sequence," Ross commanded.
Two trucks emerged, soldiers sprinting to set up sonic emitters.
Daniel's eyes gleamed.
"This is what I've been waiting for."
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