They'll find me soon enough. I may as well have a drink to celebrate the occasion. That was sarcasm by the way. I just need a strong drink, or two, or three, or…you get the idea. So here I am, incognito in some little tavern waiting for Ross or someone like him to come blazing down here into this country and snatch me up. If it turns to a pushing contest, hopefully I can take it to a remote area because the homes of these people won't be able to stand up to my Mr. Hyde. Come to think of it, San Francisco didn't do such a good job either. Ah, the levity that comes with getting drunk.

    "I'll have another." I say in Spanish to the barkeep.

    He nods and quickly brings over a glass and fills it with the best Scotch you can find…well it's not really good Scotch, but it's here.

    "There you go." He says in Spanish.

    "Gracias." I reply.

    I took a Spanish class in college. Luckily some things stuck. Most things I learned in college did stick. Like the beard thing. I hate this beard I'm wearing now, unfortunately I have to for the time being. I never understood why I didn't like wearing facial hair. It always made me, I don't know, vaguely uncomfortable when I looked in the mirror. I guess I know why now. My father, my TRUE father, not the kindly man who adopted me, wore a beard. My God what a psychopath he was.

    That's why I hate the beard. I look too much like him. I look like David Banner and my God that's a scary thought. I look like him and that only helps to reinforce that I'm like him inside too. They say most men become their fathers don't they? I sincerely hope not. My father thought he was some sort bizarre maestro, conducting a chorus that was my life and the world. He thought he was stronger, more powerful, and more intelligent than anyone else in the world. Well, my little Hyde has two out of three of those qualities so I'm not quite there yet. But who knows what tomorrow will bring?

    It's times like these that I miss Betty desperately. She's always been my rock, my salvation. Overly poetic, maybe, but true nonetheless. Of all the people in my life, Betty was the one who stuck by me through it all including the time I became the thing I am today. Betty understood me, even when I was my monster. She could calm me and get me to listen to reason when I had no reason. I can even remember a sense of protection being around her when I was wearing my other skin. That's rich irony. SHE protected ME when I could toss tanks into orbit. That's so funny I should start laughing.

    But I don't. I can't. Who could laugh when they know that deep inside of them there's a giant sleeping and every time your adrenalin rushes, he wakes up and decides its time to play? That and God only knows who's coming after me now and how much destruction will be caused when my giant decides to go "Fee Fi Fo Fum" when they open fire. I don't know. Maybe I'm just illustrating the hopelessness of the situation and am visualizing my depression. Did that last sentence make any sense? *Sigh* I simply cannot hold my liquor.

    "Mind if I join you?" a voice says in English.

    I look up and see a man, thirtyish, with brown cropped hair, and wearing a camera around his neck. I'm suddenly filled with dread at this. Who is this guy? Does he work for Ross or someone else? Does he know who I am? Deep inside I can feel the creature pounding on his cell, begging for release. But I simply breathe deeply and count to ten mentally, forcing him back down to sleep.

    "Free country." I reply.

    "Colombia?" he asks as he sits.

    "Sorry. I'm just so used to saying that." I mentally kick myself.

    "Jack McGee, National Register." He says extending his hand.

    I remember the Register. It was one of those tabloids in the supermarket lines that always proclaimed that scientists were going to blow up the moon, and then six months later you see a headline that says "Moon Made of Gold!" on the cover page. It makes me wonder if the Pope has recovered from his alien abduction yet.

    "Robert Flagg." I instantly conjure, shaking his digit. It isn't TOO much of a lie. Robert is my first name and a flag can be a banner.

    "It's good to see another gringo down here, let me tell you. It makes me glad I came in here now. I suck at Spanish." McGee stated.

    "I've heard it's a simpler language to learn than English. Less double meanings and all that." I reply, making good conversation with the man. I mean I may be living my last few hours as a free man here.

    "Buy you a drink?" he asks.

    "Thanks but I think I've had enough as it is." I say.

    "Buy me a drink?" McGee suddenly asks.

    I laugh for the first time in weeks.

    "Sure." I laugh and then ask the barkeep for a bottle.

    "Whole bottle. You're a generous man, Flagg." McGee laughs.

    "So what brings you to Colombia, Mr. McGee?"

    "Chasing a story. One on the Hulk." McGee smiles, pouring a glass.

    I'm not entirely surprised of course.

    "The Hulk?" I ask, "I've been down here for a while."

    "You hear about that thing last year in the U.S.? Big green giant that tore the place to shreds?"

    I nod.

    "Oh it's just a name that stuck. Betty Ross mentioned it in an interview with Dateline.  She said it was something Banner had called that thing he turned into."

    I knew of course. I watched the interview. She looked good.

    "No offense Mr. McGee, but isn't the Register a sort of a…well "fake" newspaper?" I ask

    "None taken. Yeah, it's a tabloid. Usually not a very good one. I've worked on some terrible stories before and here I am a trained journalist. This Hulk thing I actually believe in. It's something that's rooted in fact and I really like that."

    "Well, Christ was rooted in fact too and I saw once that your paper said He was going to return to Earth in 1997 for the rapture." I say.

    McGee just smiles and replies coyly, "He's just running a little late, I swear."

    I decide at that point that I like McGee.

    "Still, wasn't the Hulk destroyed?"

    "That's what the general consensus was, yeah. But rumors are flying fast and furious that he's here in Colombia beating the tar out of revolutionaries. You have to have heard about that?" McGee says.

    "I have. I don't really give it much thought though. Hysteria."

    "Well that's what I'm paid to find out. So what are you doing here, Flagg?"

    "I…work with heavy machinery." I smile.

    "Well that's good." He says pouring another glass and hefting it, "To heavy equipment."

    What the hell? I take the bottle and pour myself a glass too.

    "To the Hulk and aliens abducting the Pope."

    Miles away, a cargo plane lands on an isolated airfield. It rolls slowly to a stop, as the propellers slowly wind down. The door on the plane slowly opens and a group of soldiers exit the aircraft with Emil Blonsky leading the way. He strides toward his contact here with authority.

    "You are Rodriguez?" Blonsky asks in fractured Spanish.

    "Yes sir. Colonel Blonsky I presume?" Rodriguez asks.

    "I am. Is everything in accordance?" Blonsky questions.

    "Yes. Five jeeps, a helicopter, and two large transport trucks." Rodriguez states, "Though from the amount of men you have brought here, what do you plan to put in the trucks?"

    "One is for our captive once we have him restrained." Blonsky said, "The other is for our associate."

    "Your associate?"

    Rodriguez froze when he heard the clang of loud footsteps on the metal of the cargo plane. He turned when he saw a hand grip the side of the doorway. A very large hand. Rodriguez nearly lost control of his bladder when he saw the eyes of the thing as the head peaked out. They were blazing red. BLAZING. The face itself was chalk white and Rodriguez swallowed hard when the creature exited the plane completely. It stood well over seven feet tall and made a large thud with every step it took. A long tail followed the creature and waved in the air with each step. The creature slowly walked up behind Blonsky and Rodriguez backed away.

    "Mr. Rodriguez," Blonsky started, "Say hello to our associate. Say hello to Piecemeal."

*******************************************************************

If you're keeping count, you'll note that I have made several Hulk references here.

For example, when referring to the beard and the fact that all men become their fathers and that David was seen as a maestro, you'd guess I was referring to the Hulk's future incarnation, in where he ruled the world as the Maestro while in full beard.

Fans of the old TV show will notice that I decided to add reporter Jack McGee in. He was a pretty interesting character I thought, and it was a shame that he was never really used in the comic. So I thought I'd add him.

Finally, experienced fans of the Hulk comic will recognize Piecemeal, a super powered creation of the Red Skull. However, he has a much different origin here that I'll get into eventually.

Oh, and I'm sure most Hulk fans can point out at least one other character I've decided to use here. Let's just say that things are going to get quite bad eventually. You could even say they're downright …….nope. That would give it away. J