Through Tinted Panes

Prologue

Bruce Banner preferred to work with paper. With all the theoretical, conjectural, and otherwise not-quite-known-for-sure information he and his peers threw around on a regular basis, there was something comforting somehow about the undeniably solid yet delicate pages, the dark and graceful pigment looping across the blankness, and the comforting human sounds of writing utensils scratching along as the machines hummed along in their monotonous way. Or maybe it was just that he liked keeping the computers focused where they needed to be: The work. Or it could also be attested to the occasional blackout from experiments pulling unexpected power whenever auto-save was turned off. Or maybe it was Galaga.

Whether it was due to any of those reasons, another, or some unexplainable personal preference, Bruce found himself scratching away with a dulled down pencil with a quickly growing hand cramp. He flexed his hand tenderly and blinked his eyes owlishly at the freshly written, blurry letters. Ugh, exhausting. He'd been neglecting his health again, he noticed as he stretched and popped his back in a sickening manner and took a good minute or so to focus his eyes on the clock. Time, it seemed, had escaped again.

Work distracted him from many important things, mostly his health, but in this case Bruce considered his misstep to be justifiable. He and his team of scientists had been following a promising lead for a few weeks now. Bruce Banner considered accusations of self-neglect to be negligible in the face of a discovery that possessed the potential to justify his entire career.

Every person on the project was willing to sacrifice health and home for answers. At four at night- the morning, actually- Banner displayed just a tad bit more dedication than the rest of the driven pack.

But Bruce felt his age, though not great, as well as his mortality and recognized that he did not have the luxury of being a machine or a god; though he could refuel like one, and a powerful cup of tea was his secret to marathon research sessions. He placed the pen idly on the desk and stood up in a single motion.

He stifled a yawn and shuffled away from his work, looking vaguely like a panda bear due to his sleep-hindered, lumbering step. Prickles of sensation rose upon the back of his neck and arms that he attributed solely to over thinking for the past many hours. The room was entirely silent save the rustling of his clothes and soft squishing of his soles.

"Dr. Banner. Are you going to continue ignoring me?"

Starting with pure distress, Banner stumbled back from the newly perceived threat and nearly cried out as all the dominoes on his desk began to topple – figuratively, of course, it was actually just a bunch of very important papers: Even worse.

"General Ross!" His mysterious assailant was the person deemed most likely to cause him an 'accident'. "I- Ah- Uh, one moment, please, sorry," Bruce managed to spit out before whipping back around to tend to his precious research. His hands shook too much and his heart beat too fast for any of his motions to be graceful, and he loathed seeing that the papers were beginning to crumple in his grasp. Had Ross not been glaring over his shoulder, he would have taken the time to straighten them or recopy them, if necessary. Instead he slowly turned around, futilely smoothing his curly hair and rumpled lab coat.

"To what do I owe the pleasure at this, uh, hour?" Be calm, the scientist reminded himself as he clasped his hands tightly to prevent wringing or fiddling with glasses. He could still hear his deafening heartbeat echoing in his ears. It had been so quiet before, so silent that Banner could not fathom how his superior managed to sneak up without notice. He had to fill the silence because the man always expected something from him, good or bad. All he had to do was not mention Betty. "I, ah, I was just writing and waiting for-"

"At ease, Dr. Banner," Ross cut him off gently in a manner that succeeded in stunning the younger man into silence with a half-formed syllable on his tongue, "Really, Banner, don't be defensive. I was just checking on our project and top scientist. Continue your work unless this… hour makes your work unsafe." In a way that made it clear that the motion was clearly for show, Ross paced once in a circle to appraise the room, raising his eyebrows and crossing his arms at Bruce once finished. Bruce could do nothing but meekly nod and stare back, but, surprisingly, Ross had mercy and explained. "The Anechoic Incident spurred some more regulations for the safety of our researchers. You should probably get used to these visits."

Bruce nodded solemnly. Siemens had been a friend, and the aforementioned incident had not been a pleasant one. "I understand. I suppose I'll just…" The scientist gestured vaguely, unwilling to translate what he was going to do into military terms but thankfully Ross didn't seem too interested if nothing was going to blow up.

Another light flipped on as Bruce padded past, swatted his hand at it and went across the room for some other reference papers. He checked the progress on the computer. Scribbled some more then checked for accuracy. Breaths came in even, unheard patterns. Bruce resisted the urge to turn around and check the officer's movements every few minutes because what could this sudden showing of cordiality be but a truce? Unless it was a case of psychological warfare, in which case the General was surely having success. The man hated him, and admittedly the feeling was mutual, though tempered by respect and desire for conciliation on the other end. Banner shook his head quietly and pretended to scratch something out to pass the motion off as something else. Really, it was bad for his health to be so suspicious all the time and-

"Banner-" Bruce looked up quickly from his work at the clearly displeased tone, "-I see that you keep your… Loved ones close at hand, don't you?"

A few feet away, Thaddeus Ross was holding a small slip of paper in his hands. The topside looked glossy, but the glare from the light was just so as to obscure whatever image the photograph might hold. But Bruce had a lot of photographs stashed away; he liked having the hard copies. Please let it be graduation. High school graduation and not- The man tilted the picture toward its owner. Yes, it was Betty.

The image showed a beautiful, brilliant, and altogether too kind, brunette woman with a broad smile on her face, wind in the hair, cheeks flushed with laughter with her arm in the crook of another's. The other person in the frame was just a plain, unassuming, and nerdy man with a more subdued expression, though the joy it expressed was just the same.

Even days later, Bruce couldn't help but find his mood lifted as he gazed at the proof of just how happy they both were. It was just the two of them, just Bruce Banner and Betty Ross. But, now it was just Bruce Banner and Thaddeus Ross, and despite the motivation the memory provided during long nights, it didn't seem like a good thing to have it around anymore. Bruce hurried to explain before conclusions were leapt to.

"Sir, uh, that was from the recent exposition in the next city. Science and technology exhibition, not- Well, we were just-"

"I am aware of the circumstances, Dr. Banner." The General's clipped tone brought about a tense silence in the room, broken only by his deep breathing, marked by Banner's fear to breathe. Breath hissed in through Ross's nose as he began, "Were you aware, Dr. Banner, that my daughter had previous arrangements during this time period?"

"Was I-? No, Bett- Elizabeth invited me. She told me she had nothing to do that weekend because of the holiday."

Ross shook his head in either seeming understanding or disappointment. "I see. What about February 15th and May 30th?" That was post-valentine's day at the museum and their first trip to a carnival that summer. Had Banner not been so anxious to pass the test and gain approval, he might have wondered where Ross got his very specific information. Betty hadn't told anyone, and neither had he.

Bruce shook his head and shuffled his feet, unable to meet his boss's stern gaze for more than a minute at a time. "I, ah, well," he paused and took the time to organize her thoughts, "She seemed distracted on both occasions, but she didn't tell me what was wro- going on until afterward."

Again, there was the ambiguous shaking of the head. Banner gazed at the unusually subtle motion until Thaddeus caught and held his gaze like a proton would an electron. Clear blue eyes were dark in the light and a heavy cloud of thought; Banner thought for sure they were x-raying his soul, if he even believed in such a thing.

Patiently, restlessly, compliantly, Bruce waited for the father of his girlfriend to finish his appraisal. Somehow he got the feeling that this was more than a routine check, which would have been over without incident if he had come across any other person. But because this was his potential father-in-law as well as his superior, there was nothing he could do to ease the tension or voice suspicions. In all honesty, this man could cause him to lose his entire life: research and Betty. All that really mattered to him. To save his life, he'd put up with the blatant examination and mistrust.

After what seemed like an eternity of a staring contest that had Banner's strained eyes begging for moisture, Ross's posture relaxed for the first time in Bruce's presence; ever. The bright man's mind was on the verge of shorting out due to this fact alone, but began to question its sanity when that same general took off his hat and ran his hand though his thinning hair. General Ross was never at ease, not around him.

Apparently, unsettlement radiated off of him in waves because even stern General Ross took notice and pity. Unless it wasn't General Ross, and somebody had finally succeeded in creating a clone with memories – in which case Bruce really needed to know for his own peace of mind.

"Dr. Banner, I have the right to speak freely. I trust this will be off-record?" Ross clasped his hat in front of him in a placating manner and continued at Banner's 'dumb' nod. "Betty has been distant lately and I believe that you are the source of this problem as much as I am." Fear flooded through Banner's veins, but he stilled his rapidly paling face into mild curiosity. Ross's tone became quiet, almost regretful. "But only because you make her happy."

Banner's heart stopped for a moment, because he must be dead or dreaming for the current situation to happen. He opened his mouth to speak, but Ross waved him off. "You know I'm a very stubborn man, I understand that as well. The other day I had a conversation with Betty and it dawned upon me that I hadn't been very fair to either of you." The general looked away and pinched the bridge of his nose. As he turned his head back, Bruce couldn't be certain, but thought that he saw a hint of something harsh in his superior's eyes. "I admit that I loathe asking you this, but would you like to come to dinner with myself and Betty in a week? It's time to loosen the leash on her. She is… her own woman and I don't want to lose her."

Finally and inexplicably, Bruce relaxed. He let out a deep breath with a whoosh and stopped kneading his fingers together neurotically. Wanting to make Betty happy was one thing that he would never begrudge anyone. "I understand, General Ross. I'd be honored to join you," Bruce softly replied with an audible smile.

Ross stepped back, nodding and coughing gruffly. Little eye contact was sustained past that point. The moment was over.

"Yes, then everything checks out here. I will see you in the daylight hours. Evening." A hand was held out to shake, and Banner took it gingerly. Up and down, two pumps were made, and then Ross patted Bruce's shoulder before turning on his heel and clacking loudly toward the door.

He paused. "Dr. Banner?"

"Yes?"

"Congratulations. And good work." He continued on out, glancing only at a small, glowing, very vital screen. "This meter is at 90%."

"Thank you, General Ross. Good…" Bruce hesitated momentarily as he tried to decide whether it was night or morning if he hadn't gotten any sleep, but it was too late and Ross was gone. "…Bye."

Bruce remained in the same position for a few minutes before heaving a huge sigh comprised purely of air and relief. He melted into his seat, posture absolutely horrendous as his adrenaline faded and his brain kicked into motion. As the little synapses did their best work to fathom an unfathomable event, all of Banner's dread drained into hope and excitement. Picking his pen up with much ardour, he set back about to work. No longer was his relationship with Betty barred by preconceptions. He'd still have to prove himself to General Ross as a man worthy of the privilege of being in Betty's presence, but a chance was all he needed. He would take it, and not fail. Anything else would be unworthy of Betty's affection, anyway.

Now about those measurements…

Something ugly forced its way past Ross's calm demeanour once he finally exited the building. Lines sketched themselves out on the already slightly worn face, lips pulled back bestially to expose bared, yellowing teeth, the furrowing of eyebrows in pure disgust cast shadows on the eyes already dark from fury. How he hated playing nice. How he hated acting pleasant. How he hated the false camaraderie. How he hated the Trojan Horse-Olive Branch strategy. How he detested Bruce Banner.

"Dr. Johnson, are you out here?" He snarled in a vicious way, but made certain to keep his voice down.

A small padding noise sounded from a bit to his left, so Ross glared narrowly out of his peripheral vision at a member of Banner's team that was rat-like in both demeanour and appearance. His shoes were removed, leaving only dull yellow socks in contact with the floor, but otherwise he dressed to impress people who would never give him the time of day. Ross found him to be a snivelling wretch, himself, but at least he had the backbone to follow orders and get the job done. If personal gain was involved, Johnson would not be inhibited by petty morality and the imaginary rivalry between himself and Banner evolved into war mere days after their first meeting. Ross knew from experience, there was no mercy or morality in war. Just how he liked it.

"Yes General Ross, I'm here. It is done," Johnson murmured, though it sounded more like a hiss to a normal ear. After a quick and quiet cough, his voice came out more normally, though no more appealingly, "The sensors shouldn't go off until the leak reaches the outermost labs. By that time it will be too late for Doctor Banner to recalculate anything."

"And the cameras?"

"Fixed, Sir. Nobody will ever know that either of us were here."

For the first time that night, Ross gave a genuine expression of pleasure: a nod and smirk of satisfaction, eyes crinkled in a dark and sick amusement at another man's destruction. "Good. And Banner remains oblivious," A dark look crossed Ross's visage as he muttered solely to himself, "I will not allow that pathetic worm, that excuse for a man, ruin us." He couldn't ruin the future he had so lovingly crafted for himself and Betty. The one built for maximum attainment of all his ambitions.

"You will get your promotion, Johnson, but before you go…" Ross focused his steady glare on the backstabber's own fearful gaze, "I want to make sure. The amount of radiation leaking into that room right now is enough to kill an army, correct?"

"Yes Sir."

"So Bruce Banner is among the walking dead?"

"Yes Sir. If it's not instant, it will be acute cancer. Fatal within days – hours, even."

"And nobody knows gamma radiation like you do."

"No Sir, nobody but Banner. If he survived," Johnson scoffed, "it would turn all known laws of radiation on their heads."

Finally, Ross relented, nodding his head once in dismissal while strategizing every possible way to make sure that the cover-up executed correctly and the sniveling coward left in the dark would not crack under the pressure of the inevitable investigation. Intellectual types were just too weak. Too conniving, too careful, too creative, too conscientious.

War was where Ross belonged, right at the top of the army and in the thick of it, cutting all sentimental scientists down in his path to conquest. If he couldn't have a real war then this was the next best thing.

Banner bustled about in his considerable workspace, perfectly at peace with the world thanks to good results and a riverful of denial. As much as he would like to trust people, it had been beaten into his head long ago that deception was often just as convincing as the truth and sometimes more comfortable. But for the sake of his emotional stability and by extension the wellbeing of the project and any workers in the near vicinity, he needed to swallow a heavy pill of self-suppression. It went down just fine, and Banner's mood rose significantly.

The meter only had two percent remaining until completion, yet Bruce found himself with nothing left to do. All was filled out and accounted for, save the dependents on the final test. If his calculations were correct, harnessing gamma radiation as an energy source would be on track to occur within the next three years… And the safe application thereof would come within ten. Bruce knew that he wasn't the only person looking into this, and he also knew that the military would use it for extremely selfish gain. But he couldn't help but hope that as scientists turned something harmful into something useful, the world would learn from their experience.

A beeping broke his reverie. Bruce allowed a satisfied sigh to pass his lips. It was done, complete, concluded. Everything they had worked for; over. He couldn't even remember the exact time period, but the effort was immense and inspiring. In fact, the others deserved to be there just as much as he did, but Bruce was the one there and he owed it to them to let go of all sentiment. Waiting to access the results could alter the conclusion if he didn't manually check each and every one of them.

Giddy, yet not, Bruce clicked through the system's default settings to get to the meat of what he needed. Start and—Print. There. Any of the others might have been impatient and antsy to see the words flitting across the computer screen before filling the multitude of blank pages with perfect numbers but Bruce was Bruce. As such, he was able to restrain himself because, really, this might not even be the lead they were looking for. Better not get too excited.

Despite his mind's protests against raising his hopes, he was unable to prevent himself from reading along as paper fell off of the printer.

"Thirty-percent… Factor fifty-five… Ah, good thing we added the extra layer of insulation… Thirty-percent…" Bruce absently muttered at the more interesting points in the statistics, not that anyone else would understand his ramblings unless explained in, well, English. As time went on, his eyelids began to droop. How long had he been up, again? Yes, too long, that sounded about right… Banner groaned and threw a hand over his eyes, knocking his glasses out of the way to rub the sleep away.

I need to stay awake in case something goes wrong; Bruce sternly reminded his protesting body that was swiftly becoming bolder in its rebellions. No longer could he feel anything save pins and needles in his left foot. A point to the left of the temple acted akin to a jackhammer toward his brain. When he put his glasses back on, his vision swam disconcertingly. He muttered something about getting tea when all this was over and placed a steady hand on the computer screen. If anything could focus him, it was the overwhelmingly positive results.

"Three o'clock: Gamma powered generator at Thirty-Five percent. Three-Ten: Gamma powered generator at Forty percent. Three-twenty: Forty-Five percent. Three thirty: Fifty. Three forty: Fifty-Five. Three fifty: Sixty-Five. Four o'clock: Ninety. Four ten: Eighty-Five." Banner's mind was jolted out of numbers and statistics and power levels, and back into the real world. These numbers were not supposed to drop. They were designed against it. In the case of a malfunction the numbers were supposed to hold steady. Hurriedly, Bruce grabbed the computer controls and navigated to the line graph view to see a classic drop off that gradually became more severe. "Four-forty: Zero." They had a radiation leak.

Banner fell back from the data, staggering in horror at the information he had just absorbed, at the amounts of gamma his body had probably been absorbing. Suddenly the sweat pooling on his temple and upper lip could be attributed to either bodily distress or fear. But he had to calm himself; he needed to. His mind was his greatest asset, and all was lost if he abandoned it in times of crisis.

Bruce set his jaw and squared his shoulders at the invisible enemy confronting him. It was all he could do to ignore the numbness in his leg, but what time was it? He glanced up at the clock; 5:10. The digital clock told him the same thing. For thirty minutes there had been an unhindered leak of Gamma rays through the machine into the facility, and that was half an hour too long. Nobody lived close enough to get there in time if he called, and his body was already beginning to fail. He couldn't get away and nobody could come to his aid.

Wincing at the bleak situation, he carefully pulled his phone out of his back pocket and set it to record before replacing it. Somebody would need to know what happened here and recognized with the clinical detachment of someone watching a dream that he would not live long enough for it to be him. His death should have come many moments ago, so he grit his teeth and got down to work. Preventing any more exposure was the least he could do. He took a deep breath and found a place of calm within in spinning mind.

"This is Bruce Banner, access code 78542499… Gamma. There's been a leak in the main experimental power generator… Occurred presumably sometime around 4:10 am. Momentarily I will attempt to halt the flow, but in the case that I fail, anyone who reads this should…"

Alexander Johnson (who was seriously considering changing his last name to something along the lines of Caesar or Julius) glanced at his watch in the moonlight, relaxing in his comfortable desk. It was past the record gamma survival time. By his calculations, which were just as good as Banner's own, it was about this time that Banner's heart should be a pile of mush, having shut down a good quarter-hour ago. His eyes should be melting out of their sockets and any traces of neurons in that 'brilliant' brain of his would be no more use to the world.

If Dr. Johnson had been a better person, he may have mourned the loss of a worthy mind, man, or rival – but he was not. If anything, he would have mourned the loss of the current phase of research. But he didn't. He was perfectly capable of recreating that data on his own because it was his idea, after all; it was only a stroke of luck that Banner had come up with it first.

Satisfied with a good night's work, the scientist padded over to bed and drifted off to dreams of further ambition.

"… I predict that I have very limited time left. The computer has proven unable to stem the leak and I have come to the conclusion that direct intervention is the only way to prevent an uncontrolled expansion of this issue."

Bruce gave a chilling, bone jarring cough as he tapped in the necessary characters to save the results and override the safety measures. He screwed his eyes shut as another fit overtook him; they obviously weren't doing their job, anyway.

A door hissed open, moving a good few inches of protective material out of the way to grant him access to the machine. Bruce shakily grasped along the wall for support, shuffling his unreliable feet as far forward as he dared as quickly as he could. The machine – the miracle generator – was a stunningly complex creature and the lone scientist suddenly found himself relieved that he had been the one to find it in this state. Nobody knew Gamma Radiation like he did, and nobody could stop the leak in time if he couldn't.

"The machine looks to be intact. I will check the valve, the pressure levels, and finally the critical radiation containments for any problems. I suspect-" (he hoped) "That I will be able to find and stop the malfunction in one of these places."

Bruce pushed his glasses unsteadily to rest on the top of his head. At this point they were doing more harm than good. The prescription was all wrong with the mutations occurring rapidly within his nervous system (something he really did not want to think about) and he didn't want them to break if he fell – for sentimental reasons. But maybe he did need the glasses – the thought dawned on him scarily – as everything looked pristine around the valves and pressure levels. The malfunction seemed inexplicable.

"T-There is nothing wrong with the valve or pressure. Please skip these steps and look elsewhere for problems."

Bruce's hands shook from more than the radiation; from desperation and perplexity than ever before. He tested it, he should know. The areas he just checked were the most likely to blow from stress but… A cold hand clinched his heart. The critical areas he referred to were the most attractive for sabotage. His mind showed him images of earlier this morning, earlier in his life, any time someone could have gotten in. Banner sighed, all scenarios having him as the main culprit, guilty of negligence. They had taught him not to trust, to not be naïve, and look what happened when he disobeyed. Oh well. He'd fix this and never have to make that mistake again.

"Ah, here it is. There is no need to worry," Bruce was deceptively calm toward the cell phone recording, "There is a large abrasion on a pipe that can be seen from the lower left if you come in from the east side. I will attempt to close it now."

The irradiated researcher grasped at a set of emergency tools, and then he groaned in pain as the heavy box stressed his traumatized limbs. Somehow, Banner managed to remain steady just long enough to pull the kit into his arms. He noticed that his hands at least were having some sort of reaction to the radiation as well, swollen and discoloured, as they seemed from his unreliable viewpoint; his legs, no longer numb, didn't feel quite right either. Banner chuckled dryly at his situation, feeling more like a baby learning to walk than a walking dead man as he stumbled along, held aloft only thanks to the support of the wall and later the machine by his side.

"I—will– use the tools to fix this as best I can." Bruce cleared his throat and head of obstructions. "First I need to cover…" He trailed off into indecipherable mutterings without realizing as his brain lost the ability to multitask, all energy focused toward the task at hand.

There, that's it; Banner thought as he allowed his weary body to relax only to complain at his sudden jerk as he realized that it wasn't stopping. His hand operated independently from his mind, slamming down on the offensive pipe in a quick flash of anger and making the situation that much worse. Metal splintered and crumpled under the weight of his fist, damaging the machine into a state of irreparability. Shocked at his own action, unexpected strength and the newest development in the string of proof that the world despised him, Bruce did the first thing that came to mind. With sickly looking, swollen hands he grasped the tube in two places and twisted, listening to the tough material bend like aluminium foil in his grasp. A pleasant jingle from the computer informed him that the leak had been plugged, but he couldn't quite focus on it.

The immediate crisis was averted, but Bruce was panicking, more than he had done even before. He couldn't stop looking at his hands. They had been discoloured before, but now were an inhuman and glowing green. The swelling that might have been put down to an allergic or violent reaction to the radiation had solidified into tough and massive palms- - his sleeves were beginning to tear at the seams and his head reached much closer to the ceiling. The floor itself seemed to be lurching and moving further away.

Desperate to record the changes he was experiencing, or to just say it out loud, he reached for his phone and subsequently crushed it with newfound strength. Oh no, someone needs to know about… this, he realized. Either he would soon be mutated beyond recognition or would explode into some sort of green gamma goo. Bruce whirled around, knocking one of his massive shoulders into the suddenly very small generator. He apologized to every scientist, technician and taxpayer. That had been very complicated and very expensive.

Carefully now, he lumbered back to his desk and fell right through his unstable chair to the floor. He wasn't really concerned about it in the grand scheme of things. More importantly, he concentrated on keeping his writing utensil intact.

"Dear Betty," Bruce began to write with a solemn expression on his twisted face and recounted the events leading up to the disaster, just as he had on the failed phone recoding. He paused; did he really want to write this, now of all times? It'd be like goodbye. Bruce closed his eyes and wrote his conclusion. "I love you, from Bruce."

In all honesty, he probably should not have written that because saying goodbye upset him. He would only hurt Betty with a posthumous declaration of love. He was angry at himself for letting it get this far, he was enraged by his own ineptitude, he hated the world for doing this to him, because Bruce didn't want to hurt anyone and he had already let everyone down.

A massive hand moved up toward the massive green face and smashed the glasses still perched on the nose. Glass went into his eyes, and it hurt, but it was not agonizing. What was happening to him? Why was he suddenly so strong? And why did he feel so angry?

The anger was a haze, Bruce would later remember, it consumed him, twisting into something as ugly as hate. Some bodily fluid remained on Bruce's hand as the cuts healed themselves quickly and efficiently, and stood stark against the rapidly reddening and paling skin. Was the dispersal of gamma returning him to normal? A sharp spike of pain accompanied by pure rage dispelled those hopeful thoughts, but the last thing that Bruce Banner thought before he faded into oblivion was; I guess I'll be missing dinner, then. It would have been nice to make it. Sorry, Betty.

The station was chaotic. Military men were scrambling for excuses at the same rate reporters were clawing their grubby pens for a story. They held no concern or care for the young lab tech, fresh out of school that had stumbled across the frightening scene.

Anne Beth (yes, with a space in between) habitually arrived at work early thanks to a tad of homesickness, tinged with some workaholism; and as such just happened to be the first one there. The door was locked, nothing unusual there, but even after she unlocked it there was no way to get into the room. She hit her shoulder to the door shouting, "Hello? Dr. Banner?" Everybody knew that he stayed late on most occasions and could often be found sleeping on his desk, sometimes waking up with ink on his face from the haphazard stacks of paper he kept lying around. If there was anyone there or anyone knew what had happened, it would be him. So she hit the door again. "Dr. Banner? If you're in there, please respond."

The cry she received in return filled her with dread. Something was throwing fragile items, sturdy items, miscellaneous items, and the animalistic noises were filled with agony, fear, and no small amount of rage. It probably wasn't the best idea to go in there, but she couldn't just leave anyone there. Besides, Anne Beth rationalized to herself; she couldn't call for help without warning the rescuers what they would be up against. With that bit of bad logic in mind (because how bad could it really be in there?) she slowly nudged the door open, putting all of her weight behind the effort. Still, she was only able to budge it a sliver.

With an immense and morbid curiosity, the nosy girl placed her left eye to the gap. She stilled, becoming motionless and disbelieving at the sight that met her eyes. Banner was in there, as expected, but acting out as she had never seen before. The place was trashed, and the radiation levels were unusually high – but her boss was fine, save the expression on his face and lack of care in his movements. There might have been some splotchy bruises on his forearms, along with broken glasses, but she attributed that to the fact that he was hitting and throwing and punching everything in sight.

"Holy cow," Anne Beth breathed then regretted as she saw unrecognizing and wild eyes turn to her. Quickly, she slammed the door shut just in time to keep the raging animal away from her and locked the door. The young girl winced at the horrible sounds and violent blows sounding through the thin piece of wood, before sprinting in the direction of help without looking back once.

Headlines claimed that an experiment gone wrong had driven the bright, brilliant, and helpful scientist off the deep end, but no investigator was able to fathom the truth. Those near him had no better luck. The day he was admitted to a military asylum with padded walls and a straightjacket was like a funeral. Whatever had happened had twisted the mild-mannered man beyond recognition. Even Betty's tears made no progress towards the restoration of his sanity. Co-workers fled the project in droves, fearing the unknown. They didn't know if the high radiation level had caused or been the result of the madness, but they would not stick around to discover the truth.

Even the victim did not know the truth. The only two who did were free from guilt, the past, and most importantly Bruce Banner.

His memory was quickly reduced to cautionary tales and pitying whispers; much like the man himself was reduced to a shell containing only emotion untempered by intellect.

A/N:

1. I have tons of 'thank you's for loopyloo2610 for beta-ing this and doing an absolutely wonderful job.

2. This story is not a romance and will not have emphasis on romantic relationships, though the cannon ones will probably still be present in the background.

3. This is my first fanfiction and I'm extremely apprehensive in posting this, so any sort of feedback would be greatly appreciated. Thank you for reading!