Earth-717: Hulk Vol 1

Chapter 1: Credible

Writing another formula onto his notepad, Bruce listened to the noises of the street. The sound of the cars on the street driving past him; the murmur of the people walking and talking all along the sidewalks. Looking up from his notepad, Bruce saw a family standing just outside the small, flowered fence that sealed off the restaurant patio he was sitting at.

There was a man, a woman and a child. The man was wearing a black suit, and the woman was wearing a purple dress with a pearl necklace. The child was a young boy in a plaid, collared shirt and expensive jeans. He grabbed at the bottom of his mother's dress, giving it a gentle tug. She looked down at him and smiled before reaching down and scooping him up in her arms. Holding him up to her face, she placed her forehead against his for a moment before looking at Bruce. Bruce smiled at the woman, and she smiled back. The man, who was facing the road, flagged down a taxi and opened the door. As the family entered the cab, the boy looked back at Bruce, who smiled at him and gave a slight wave. The boy tilted his head as the cab door closed, and the vehicle began driving down the road.

Breathing through his nose, Bruce looked back down at his notepad. Holding the pen firm in his other hand, he began scribbling in another formula below the one he had just composed. Sighing as he noticed an issue, he scratched out the new formula and tapped the back of the pen against the notepad a few times. As he began writing again, the pen slipped from his hand and fell onto the floor.

"Ugh."

Placing the notepad on the table, Bruce reached down for the pen. Grasping it in his hand, he reeled himself back up before bumping the back of his head against the underside of the table.

"Ow."

Rubbing the back of his head as he sat back up, he sighed again. Putting the pen on the table next to the notepad, he noticed a waitress in a yellow uniform walk up to him.

"What can I get you to drink, sir?"

"Coffee, please," replied Bruce.

"Regular or decaf?"

"Regular is fine. Thank you."

The waitress nodded as she turned around and walked past the other tables. Bruce exhaled and sat back in his chair. As he did so, another woman approached the table, in a white coat.

"Is this seat taken?"

Bruce looked over and smiled at Betty as she sat down. She placed her purse on the back of her chair. He looked at her thick, red lips as she turned to face him.

"How long have you been waiting?" asked Betty.

Bruce waved his hand down.

"Ah, not long at all," answered Bruce. "Few minutes at most."

Betty placed her hands on the table. She then looked at the notepad.

"Working?"

"Yeah, on the formulas," said Bruce. "Just doing some revisions."

"Looks like you're having some trouble."

"Not really . . . ."

"Bruce, there's a lot of scratched out formulas on there."

Bruce laughed for a second before coughing. The waitress walked up with a cup of coffee which she placed in front of Bruce.

"Thank you."

The waitress nodded and turned to Betty.

"For you, ma'am?"

"I'll take a coffee as well, please. Regular."

"Alright."

The waitress turned and walked away as Bruce took a sip of his coffee. Placing it back down on the small cup plate, he looked back at Betty.

"Is it really the best idea to be doing revisions that are that intensive at this stage?" asked Betty.

Bruce placed his hand on his chin.

"It's going to be fine," said Bruce. "I'm just . . . . you know, going paranoid, I guess. I'm not actually changing anything . . . . just checking the possibilities."

"I know you, Bruce," said Betty. "Something's got you worried."

Bruce sighed as he placed his hands on the table. The waitress walked up again and placed Betty's coffee in front of her. She nodded and smiled at the waitress.

"Either of you want anything to eat?"

Bruce opened his mouth.

"We're okay right now," said Betty. "Thank you."

Bruce closed his mouth, and the waitress walked away from the table. He then looked at Betty with a disappointed face.

"What?"

"I would have liked a sandwich or something."

"You can have your sandwich after we've talked."

Bruce sighed and rubbed the back of his neck.

"Bruce . . . . is there a problem with the experiment?"

Bruce closed his eyes for a moment before looking back at Betty.

"No . . . . the experiment's design is flawless," answered Bruce. "I've been rerunning the numbers, looking at the variables . . . . by all accounts that we can predict, it's going to be a success. It's just . . . ."

Betty exhaled, staring intently at Bruce as he avoided her gaze. He looked down at the ground as he felt his breath slowing. The sounds of the street seemed to drain from his audible sphere as his thoughts raced.

"Bruce? Stop ignoring me!"

His mind flew back to another time. The restaurant melted away into a void of black as the pieces fell back into place.

"You better stop ignoring me, boy!"

"Brian!"

Bruce winced as the static of the memory started filling in with colours and shapes. Brown. Grey. Beige. Circles. Squares. Rectangles.

"Rebecca, get out of here! This doesn't concern you!"

A vaguely humanoid shape took form in front of Bruce's eyes. There were extremities which looked like limbs, with the arms outstretched. Different colours to the skin took shape over the torso and legs, simulating some form of clothing, but the details were muddy and out of focus. The only thing that Bruce could make out clearly were the vibrant green eyes.

"Leave him alone!"

"If you don't get in the bedroom right now, I'll beat him worse!"

Bruce could hear the shrill cry of a woman's voice in his ear. He looked deep into the eyes of the humanoid creature in front of him. Each fibre of the eyes were strained, and he could see the green glowing around the empty, black pupils.

"Bruce!"

Bruce tried to move, but his muscles would not respond to his commands. The shape moved closer.

"Get out! Run!"

Bruce felt his mouth open wider as the shape stood right in front of him, and began reaching for his throat. As the hands moved closer, fingers formed and wrapped around Bruce's neck. He felt the air being squeezed out of his body, but still could not move to defend himself.

"Don't make me angry, boy," said the voice. "You wouldn't like me when I'm angry."

As Bruce's eyes widened, the static grew, until it encased all of his vision. Grey and black squares jumped around his eyes as the feeling left his body. It all began to fade when a loud noise shattered the static.

"Bruce!"

Bruce blinked a couple times as he saw the notepad and pen on the table in front of him. He then shook his head and looked at Betty, who was frowning.

"Betty . . . . I'm . . . ."

"I know," said Betty. "Again?"

Bruce sighed and rubbed his forehead.

"Yeah," replied Bruce. "Worse this time. I still can't make any sense of it . . . . it's just words and shapes."

Betty reached over the table and put her hand on Bruce's.

"You've been stretching yourself too thin," started Betty. "I know you've been working hard on this project, but you also need to give yourself a break from time to time. You know as well as I that when you get stressed . . . ."

"It's not stress," interrupted Bruce. "It's . . . . something else . . . ."

Betty tilted her head to the side as she exhaled. Bruce pulled his hand out from under hers and picked up the notepad. Betty left her hand on the table.

"There's something missing," said Bruce. "Some variable I'm not accounting for . . . . some angle I'm not seeing. Otherwise, I wouldn't be having these . . . ."

"Doubts?"

Bruce sighed.

"Worries."

"It's pressure, Bruce," said Betty. "You know how much grant money this experiment is using, but come on . . . . no one knows gamma radiation like you do. No one. If there was someone that did, they would've asked them."

Bruce stared at notepad and exhaled.

"I know that," replied Bruce. "It's just . . . ."

"Listen to me," started Betty. "You are the smartest person I know. You know that I and the rest of the team are backing you completely. We have confidence in you, Bruce."

Bruce looked at Betty.

"So why can't you?"

Bruce looked back at the notepad, and focused on one particular formula for a few seconds. He then put the notepad down.

"I don't know."

Ross pulled the cigar from his lips and blew out a ring of smoke. The grey mist floated in the air for a few seconds before dissipating. Biting down on the end of the cigar, he looked at the folder on his desk. The beige folder had several white sheets of paper inside of it, as well as a black, circular logo with an eagle emblem emblazoned on its face. Sneering, Ross opened the folder and looked at the first sheet.

ATTENTION – FOR YOUR EYES ONLY – GENERAL THADDEUS ROSS

Ross adjusted the cigar slightly. He looked below the headline to see the marking above the body paragraph of text.

Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement and Logistics Division.

"Fury," said Ross.

Ross then heard his communicator ring. He put down the folder and pressed the button on his desk.

"This is Ross."

"General, you have a Lieutenant Glenn Talbot to see you."

"Send him in."

Ross closed the file and tossed out his cigar before putting his hands on the desk. The door to his office then opened, and Talbot walked in. He was wearing a blue uniform, with several pins on his left breast section. He had a thick, black moustache. He stood up straight and saluted Ross.

"General."

"At ease, Lieutenant," replied Ross, gesturing to the chair in front of his desk. "Have a seat."

"Yes sir."

Talbot lowered his arm and walked over to the chair. Sitting down, he folded his hands. Ross exhaled and looked at him with a suspicious glare for a few seconds.

"You called for me?" asked Talbot.

"I did," replied Ross. "I've always seen good things from you, Talbot. You have an excellent record."

Ross opened up another file which was on his desk, with Talbot's name on it. He pulled out a sheet and held it in front of him.

"Multiple medals of recognition. A faster than average progression through the ranks. Nearly clean record . . . . a couple of minor infractions, but nothing we can't overlook for your efficiency. You should be a major soon enough."

"If I may, sir," started Talbot, "why are you referring to my record?"

"Because I see greatness in you, Talbot," answered Ross. "You're a good man. A good soldier. You remind me of the sort of men I had in my unit back in the day . . . . before they let all these ruffians loose in the service. In my opinion, they aren't hard enough on the men . . . . and don't get me started on the women . . . . but you . . . . you're a real soldier."

"Thank you, sir."

"I'm telling you this because I want you to under my wing," said Ross. "I've got a special project I'm working on, and I want a second set of eyes on it. A set of eyes that I can trust."

Talbot nodded as a faint hint of a grin showed on his face.

"Are you ready for that kind of responsibility, Lieutenant?"

"I am."

"Good," said Ross. "You're to report to me tomorrow morning at oh eight hundred. I'll brief you on the details on the way."

"Understood," replied Talbot. "I appreciate the opportunity."

Ross nodded.

"Stick with me, Talbot, and you'll go straight to the top," said Ross. "You hear me?"

"Yes sir."