The T-800 turned, its sunglasses fixed on Banner, its voice as flat as ever.
"Doctor, calculations show violence is the most efficient way to end violence."
"If the threat is not eliminated, your heart rate has an 87% chance of exceeding 200."
Bruce Banner clutched his forehead in pain.
"That's a transformation, not tachycardia!"
"Forget it—there's no reasoning with a robot."
Banner walked to the medicine shelf and began sweeping up the scattered glass, grumbling the whole time.
"When will this life end..."
"All I want is a quiet place to do research—why does trouble keep finding me?"
Bruce Banner looked at the wreckage, sighed helplessly, and was about to pick up a usable shard when the half-hinged, half-broken door was violently kicked in again.
The poor wooden door finally met its doom.
With a boom louder than before.
The entire wall and frame exploded into flying splinters and dust.
Beep-beep-beep-beep!
Bruce Banner's wrist monitor shrieked.
Heart rate: 125... 130...!
In that instant.
A faint, terrifying green flickered in the depths of Banner's pupils.
He clutched his shirtfront, veins bulging in his neck as he fought to cage the Beast about to wake.
"Damn it... damn it!"
"Why can't even a door leave me in peace?!"
The dust settled.
A young figure stood in the rubble.
A boy who looked no more than seventeen or eighteen.
An orange cowboy hat with goggles and two smile-and-cry pins.
Bare-chested, muscles defined, a red-bead necklace at his throat.
Most striking was the black-spade emblem on his back.
"Sorry, sorry!"
He scratched the back of his head, flashing a bright but anxious grin.
"Got a bit carried away—I'll pay for the damage!"
"Is this Dr. Banner's clinic?"
In the corner, the T-800 spun around.
Red light behind its sunglasses locked onto the boy.
"High-energy signature detected."
"Threat level: extreme."
The machine's flat voice echoed through the clinic.
The next second.
The leather-clad hulk's footing shattered.
He shot forward like an arrow, his steel-crushing hand slicing for the boy's throat.
"Whoa, big guy, opening with a punch?"
The youth apologized, but his reflexes were lightning.
Just as the T-800's fingers brushed him—
Boom!
A blazing orange-red fire burst from the boy's body.
The T-800's hand passed through the flames and grabbed nothing.
The boy's body turned to fire, re-forming meters away.
"Close call."
He held his hat, surprise flashing in his eyes.
"No Haki, yet that monstrous strength?"
"And no life-sign... you're a cyborg?"
The T-800 gave no answer.
It pulled a huge-barreled shotgun from its back.
Ch-chk—round chambered.
As the clinic teetered on total destruction—
"Stand down, Arnie!"
A roar of barely caged fury sounded.
The T-800 froze mid-motion.
Shotgun still raised, it turned mechanically.
"Doctor, calculations indicate target can annihilate the island—recommend immediate termination."
"I said stand down!"
Bruce Banner sucked in a breath, fished two tranquilizers from his pocket, and tossed them back.
As the drug took hold, the monitor's shriek faded.
Heart rate: 110... 105...
Leaning on the wobbling cabinet, Banner adjusted his glasses and glowered at the boy.
"Who are you?"
"If you're here to rob the place, the last gang already cleaned me out."
The youth doused his flames and stepped quickly forward.
Then.
To Banner's stunned disbelief.
The wild pirate lad bowed ninety degrees.
"Please, Doctor!"
"Save my crewmate!"
His voice was earnest, trembling with urgency.
"I'm Portgas D. Ace, Captain of the Spade Pirates!"
"My first mate, Deuce, took a jungle poison for me—he's dying!"
"They say this island has a brilliant oddball Doctor—please, help him!"
Bruce Banner stared at the boy bent in front of him.
The messy black hair, the orange hat with its silly pins.
Even begging, the kid radiated reckless heat.
Banner glanced at his watch.
Heart rate: 98.
Still high, but no longer climbing.
That scare had almost let the "Big Guy" out.
"Lift your head first."
Adjusting his glasses, Banner sounded weary.
"I'm a Doctor—saving lives is my job."
"But..."
He pointed at the ruins that had been his front door.
"Next time, could you knock?"
"Even if the door's already gone—pretend, at least."
Ace snapped upright.
Joy and a bashful flush flooded his young face.
He scratched his head, flashing a toothy grin.
"Sorry! I was in a rush!"
"Fix a door? I'll rebuild the whole warehouse if you save Deuce!"
"Rebuilding isn't necessary."
Banner turned to the one intact cabinet.
He grabbed a field kit and pocketed two vials of strong sedative.
His lifeline.
Not for the patient—for the world.
Or rather, to keep himself from destroying it.
"Lead the way."
Suitcase in hand, Banner waved the T-800 over.
"Arnie, bring the gear—we're making a house call."
"And remember, no attacking unless my heart rate tops 150."
"Order confirmed."
The T-800 holstered its oversized shotgun.
It strode to the corner and lifted a portable med-pod—two hundred kilos—with one hand.
As easily as a plastic bag.
Red light behind its glasses flicked, locking onto Ace's back.
"Alert: target extremely dangerous—maintain ten-meter distance."
Ace's eyes went round.
"Whoa! Awesome, mister!"
"Is that iron body a Devil Fruit power?"
"So cool!"
Banner rolled his eyes.
"Less chatter—your friend's dying, right?"
"Move it."
Ace's face snapped to solemn.
"Right! Deuce is waiting!"
"Doc, our ship's a long walk from here—too slow!"
Banner blinked.
"Then what? There's no car..."
Before he could finish.
A bad feeling surged.
Ace tilted his hat, his grin crackling with energy.
"No problem!"
"I'm super fast!"
"Wha—"
Banner started to backpedal.
A searing hand clamped his arm.
Unbreakable grip.
"Sorry, Doc!"
Ace shouted.
The next second.
BOOM!
Twin jets of roaring flame burst from his soles.
Blasting them skyward.
"Wait, don't—"