Michael woke to the high, digital chime of his phone. The sound cut through the heavy, exhausted fog in his head. He was on a thin, lumpy mattress in a small, windowless room. Lucian had finally taken him down from the restraints and allowed him to rest on an actual bed.
He fumbled for the phone on the concrete floor, his limbs feeling heavy and weak. He squinted at the bright screen, his eyes struggling to focus. Then they snapped wide open.
He pulled up his banking app, his thumb sliding unsteadily on the glass. He stared, counting the zeros. Ten million dollars. It was actually there. Deposited into his account.
It was more money than he had ever imagined possessing in his entire life. But a cold wave washed over him. Considering his current situation, about to transform into a werewolf, his blood being drawn repeatedly, and caught in the middle of a centuries-old war, would he even get a chance to spend it?
The thought left a bitter taste in his mouth. A heavy sigh escaped him, and he sank back onto the thin mattress. Then again, at least he had the money. And at least Selene had proven trustworthy.
Michael pocketed the phone and collapsed back onto the bed. Having his blood drawn repeatedly had left him utterly exhausted. Sleep, heavy and dreamless, claimed him within seconds.
On the other side of the world, in the humid, pre-dawn gloom of a Brazilian favela, Ross and his elite team were in a mobile command vehicle. The air inside was thick with the hum of electronics.
Before the operation began, Ross produced a hard-sided case and snapped it open. Inside, nestled in foam, was a scouter. He handed it to Blonsky.
"Take this. It may prove useful in the engagement ahead."
At three million dollars per unit, Ross couldn't afford to equip the entire team. But Blonsky was his best operator.
Blonsky accepted the scouter and saluted crisply, his face a mask of professionalism. "Thank you, sir."
Ross nodded. "Go. Bring the target back to me."
As Blonsky left the command vehicle and joined his team, his initial confidence had transformed into a focused intensity. The scouter was the single most valuable piece of individual combat equipment in existence. If Ross was giving it to him for this mission, the target had to be extraordinary.
Blonsky knew his own capabilities. He'd broken through the human limit, but barely. His combat power registered a solid 8.5 points. There were transcendent beings above him, and even extraordinary beings beyond that. He didn't know which category this target fell into.
The objective was capture, not kill. He could only hope there wouldn't be complications.
Blonsky led his team through the dark, narrow alleys with heightened alertness. The air smelled of damp earth and cooking fires. To avoid alerting their target, they moved like shadows, tranquilizing even a stray dog that let out a single, sleepy bark.
The team reached Banner's door. A soldier knelt and inserted a fiber optic camera through the gap beneath it. The screen on his wrist flickered to life, showing the dark interior.
Banner's pet dog spotted the foreign object immediately and clamped its jaws around it.
Through the grainy, shaking footage, they glimpsed what appeared to be a human shape sleeping on a bed.
In the command vehicle, Ross made his decision. "Don't alert the target. Retrieve equipment and breach."
The soldiers withdrew the camera and placed small, precise C4 charges at the door's four corners for a directional blast.
The button was pressed. The explosion was sharp and controlled, a loud thump that blew the door inward in a cloud of splinters and dust.
Soldiers poured through the opening, fanning out, flooding into the bedroom. They saw the figure on the bed and immediately opened fire with their tranquilizer rifles, the guns hissing.
But Blonsky, checking his scouter, saw the display remain blank. It detected no human life signs in the room except for the dog.
"Stop! Target's not in the room!"
His warning came a fraction too late. A dozen tranquilizer darts thudded into bedding and the wall.
Blonsky ignored the decoy and rushed to the open window. He leaned out, scanning the alley below.
Behind him, team members pulled back the covers. A pillow with a cheap wig attached stared back at them mockingly.
Bruce Banner had spotted the team surrounding the building and escaped before they'd breached.
"Target's not in the room. Repeat, not in the room. Everyone down. Search pattern alpha."
Blonsky leveled his rifle and tranquilized the barking dog, then spotted the rope Banner had used to climb down.
"He's below us. Move!"
Bruce Banner had descended into his attractive neighbor's apartment one floor down. He gave her a passionate, hurried goodbye kiss and bolted for her door.
"Thank you!"
He wore a red hoodie, a cap pulled low, a backpack slung over his shoulders. When he hit the street and spotted a soldier, he immediately turned and tried to blend into the sparse morning crowd.
But Blonsky's scouter, scanning the street, locked onto him. A reading appeared. Combat power: 8 points. Above human normal.
Blonsky felt a wave of relief. So the target was dangerous, but not catastrophically so. It made sense for a fugitive who'd killed multiple people.
"Target is male, red hoodie, backpack. Moving east."
Blonsky raised his weapon and fired a tranq dart.
Banner's reflexes, honed by constant fear, kicked in. He dove sideways into a group of civilians heading to work, using them as a shield. The dart missed.
Ross, watching the feed from the command vehicle, barked orders over the comms. "Clear civilians! Don't lose him!"
Blonsky gave chase. His enhanced physiology let him run like a sprinter, and he quickly outpaced the other soldiers.
But Banner was better. Superior physical conditioning combined with an intimate, desperate knowledge of the terrain let him navigate through buildings, over tin roofs, and through narrow gaps. He left the soldiers behind in the labyrinthine favela.
Then Banner's luck turned. He ran straight into a group of enemies from the factory where he worked. Old grudges flared in their eyes. Recognizing him, they gave chase immediately.
Banner, trapped, doubled back toward the factory, hoping to lose them in familiar territory.
Though Banner ran fast, Blonsky kept his scouter locked on the target's 8-point signature. He coordinated with his team and updated Ross continuously.
At the factory, several of the workers cornered Banner. They had scores to settle. They shoved him hard against a support beam and started beating him.
Banner's heart rate spiked. He tried to warn them, his voice cracking. "Stop! Please! You have to leave!"
They ignored him. The beating intensified.
Soldiers positioned on a rooftop outside now had clear sight lines but couldn't fire without hitting the workers. They tranquilized Banner's attackers first, clearing the field. The men dropped, one by one.
But as the workers dropped, Banner's heart rate monitor, which Ross was tracking, exceeded two hundred beats per minute.
The transformation began.
A soldier observing through night vision goggles shouted into his comms, his voice tight. "Is anyone else seeing this?"
Blonsky's shock far exceeded his teammate's surprise. His entire body trembled.
The scouter's numbers were climbing. Rapidly. A high-pitched whine came from the device. Ten points. Twenty. Thirty. The digits blurred as they accelerated past one hundred.
The Hulk emerged from where Bruce Banner had been, roaring, his skin green and thick.
"Fire! Everyone fire! This is an extraordinary threat!"
On Blonsky's order, the entire team opened up. Tranquilizer darts flew in a swarm.
None penetrated the Hulk's skin. They bounced off harmlessly and clattered to the ground.
The Hulk grew angrier. The numbers in Blonsky's scouter continued to rise, the whine becoming a scream.
"Switch to live rounds! Live rounds now!"
Gunfire erupted. Bullets struck the Hulk's body with metallic pings, like hammering a steel beam. They flattened and fell.
The scouter's display climbed past one hundred fifty points.
Then it exploded. A pop, a flash of sparks, and the device on Blonsky's face went dead, a wisp of smoke rising from it.
Blonsky stared at the green giant through the smoking wreckage of the scouter, his voice barely a whisper. "One fifty. It was over one fifty."
That number terrified him. If he'd seen this green giant without the scouter, he might have been scared, but he would have charged anyway. Duty demanded it. But knowing he measured 8.5 points while the target exceeded 150... that inspired a primal, bottomless fear.
Still, he was a soldier. Fear and retreat weren't options.
Blonsky raised his grenade launcher and emptied it. He fired every round of explosive ammunition he carried.
The effect was minimal. The explosions barely staggered the creature. It roared, smashed through the factory wall like it was cardboard, and disappeared into the night.
Blonsky moved into the debris, his heart pounding. At least he'd found something useful. Bruce Banner's backpack, his computer still inside.