Empire State University's streets looked nothing like a campus anymore. Overnight, it had become a battlefield.
General Thaddeus "Thunderbolt" Ross sat rigidly inside the biggest armored vehicle in the convoy, his hand white-knuckled around his radio as he barked out orders.
"Surround the target. Hold your positions. No civilian casualties. Do not engage until my command."
The military responded with disciplined precision. Armored trucks tore up the lawns, tanks parked with cannons ready, and sonic weapons waited for a signal. EMP launchers lined up along the roads, their operators tense. The grounds looked like a war zone.
All of this—just for one man.
But Ross knew Banner wasn't 'just a man.' Not anymore. Not since the Hulk. The military's pride had been bruised by the Hulk too many times, and Ross wasn't going to let history repeat itself.
This time, he'd pulled every string: Stark Industry gear, special tactics, and full authorization from the very top. The Governor wasn't asked. The press wasn't invited. The President had quietly signed off. Now there was just one goal—neutralize the threat.
Still, Ross felt a pressure in his chest. He needed to win.
On the other side of the armored line, Betty Ross made her move. She faced Bruce, her hands shaking. "Go, Bruce. Right now."
Before he could reply, she was sprinting into the path of the approaching command vehicle, throwing herself in front with a wild desperation.
"STOP!" Betty screamed, spreading her arms, refusing to budge.
Inside, soldiers recognized her instantly. Ross's daughter—no one dared make the call. The order was simple: No one moves unless Ross himself gives the word.
Tense seconds passed.
Then Ross's voice thundered, "STOP!" and he flung the door open.
The truck screeched to a halt, only feet from Betty.
Ross climbed out, stone-faced, not wasting a glance on his daughter. "Report. Positions," he demanded.
Around him, the university grounds pulsed with threat: soldiers in combat gear flanking the biology building, tanks blocking escape routes, buzzing drones overhead. Most students had been swept away or locked down in classrooms by now.
Betty hurried to her father, panic in her eyes. "Dad, please—you can't do this. Let him go!"
Ross's answer was a cold grimace. "You don't understand what's at stake here. You never have."
"I understand exactly," Betty shot back. "You don't want justice. You want to use him!"
Ross didn't reply, but the silence was more telling than words.
He had no way out, not anymore. The operation was set in motion, and pulling back now would be the end of his career—and maybe something worse.
But for Ross, this wasn't just about orders. It was personal.
He turned to his men. "Detain her. Get her out of here."
Two soldiers grabbed Betty's arms, and she fought, yelling at her father. "Dad, stop! You don't know what you're doing!"
Ross ignored her, hooked on a voice coming through his headset.
"General, we have visual. Banner's on the library's overpass."
Across campus, Bruce Banner bolted over the elevated walkway, his breathing ragged. He knew the terrain. If he could just make it to the Bioinformatics Hall, he might escape through the perimeter and reach the Hudson River.
"Lock down all exits. Chains on every door. Banner doesn't leave." Ross's voice cut through the comms.
As Bruce reached the end, he saw his way blocked. He spun—the other side locked too. Then the soldiers cocked their guns and fell silent.
Ross's next order was sharp and practiced. "No lethal force. Deploy the gas. We want him contained."
Two silver canisters arced onto the walkway, hissing as thick white smoke filled the space and rolled along the glass.
For a moment, the campus was eerily still.
No shouts. No gunfire. Only fog.
Then: a sharp, desperate scream—cut short.
BOOM!
A gigantic green fist smashed through the reinforced glass, shattering the walkway in a shower of shards.
A roar split the air, wild and inhuman.
The Hulk burst through the smoke, hulking and furious. In an instant, the soldiers' neat formations dissolved into chaos. Some ran. Some froze. All were dwarfed by the monster now on the quad.
He towered over them, a mass of rippling, green muscle, his face twisted and wild. Even so, Betty recognized the man behind the fury.
Up above, observers had gathered.
A red-and-gold shape hovered silently: Tony Stark, scanning the battlefield in his Iron Man suit.
Inside a nearby high-rise, Peter Parker watched from behind a cracked window, anxiety written in every line of his body. He felt the urge to act but knew this was no place for him—yet.
From a distant rooftop, Drum, the sorcerer, watched in silence, glowing symbols swirling in his eyes.
All across the city, satellites re-angled to this spot. Deep in a secure HQ, Nick Fury glared at his monitor, one eye narrowing as the situation escalated.
"We've got a situation," Fury muttered.
Back in the fray, Ross didn't so much as flinch. He raised his voice over the comms.
"All teams—hold. Wait for Phase Two."
He could order the Hulk's death, maybe. But that wouldn't get him what he truly wanted.
A corpse was useless.
Ross wanted control.
Nearby, Betty stood frozen, tears spilling down her cheeks. All she could do was whisper, soft and desperate—
"Bruce…"
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