*hides behind Iron Man* I'M SORRY! I don't even have an excuse for being so late this time... except for reading instead of writing... but that's not important! Today, we're going to move on to... Ladies and Gentlemen... the INCREDIBLE HULK!

This is based on the Hulk's original origin. All of the sciency stuff is bogus that I made up, except for times and distances. Also, all I could get for the dude who doesn't delay the explosion was "Igor", so I gave him a Russian composer's last name.

Song for this chapter: Banana Pancakes by Jack Johnson

HULK: PART ONE: NO NEED TO GO OUTSIDE

"Bruce?" called out a husky voice.

"Yes, Dad?" Bruce shouted back from the other side of the lab.

Brian Banner tapped several keys on his computer setup, before leaning back in his seat and gazing over to his son. "Are you done with the prediction calculations yet?"

The 15-year-old nodded, flashing a piece of paper densely layered with intricate calculations. "The explosion of the gamma bomb should be contained within a 10-kilometer radius," he recited, "and any leftover radiation will wear off and leave no lingering effects on abiotic factors of the environment. There is no evidence as to what will happen to delicate electronics within range, so cameras may or may not be fried. But any biotic factors would be-"

"Mutated or destroyed, depending on proximity, I know," interrupted the older scientist. "We're testing in a confined area, mutation is the least of our worries. Are you sure that those numbers are right? I'll check them, just to be sure."

Bruce, abashed, nodded silently and turned back to his workstation. His dad hardly even noticed when the young scientist tried to show him any extra work, any extra information that could potentially help their experiments. What if these calculations would keep this test from failing, and they still got ignored?

Well, if the project failed, the government would blame the head, who would blame Brian, who would blame Bruce.

A completely predictable cycle.

Well. He couldn't do anything about it right now.

Bruce was about to open up a new file and start on more calculations, but jumped when the door to the crowded room creaked open. A head poked in; Igor Stravinsky, head of the project. Scowling, he snarled, "Hurry up vith zose calculations, Banner. I know you'd love to lay here lazing around, but assembly's almost complete. Ve need to know what exactly zis bomb vill blow up."

"As you command," Brian responded, sarcasm oozing through his words. Bruce could never get that effect.

Stravinsky gave another A+ scowl, then turned and left, back stiff and straight.

Brian growled in frustration, turning back to the screen and typing furiously.

"Dad," Bruce cautiously reasoned, "maybe if you send me just a page of the math -"
"I can do it myself," Brian dismissed, without a second thought. "I'm a grown man."

Bruce sighed and got to work on his own relatively easy calculations. Would it kill his dad to at least accept a bit of help once in awhile?
Actually, yes, yes it would.

Brian Banner never let anyone help him anymore.

His mother smiled down at him. "Don't worry, Brucie Bear. I'm just going to the lab to help your father out with his project. You can watch T.V. while we're gone.

Younger Bruce had nodded, disappointed that he couldn't tag along, but hey, it wasn't the worst thing that could happen. Flopping onto the cushy couch, he skillfully browsed the T.V, until he found Episode 5 of Star Wars. He had watched it too many times to count, but it never got old.

Right in the middle of Han and Leia's entrance to Cloud City, however, a flurry of flames filled up the screen.

Younger Bruce gazed at the T.V. in alarm for a few seconds, before realizing that the movie had been replaced with live news footage of a fire, consuming a big white building.

Wait… he knew that building…

The whole scientific team assembled in a long, narrow room, facing a thin screen. Powering up, the screen displayed a deserted wasteland, with rain pouring down in sheets, where the testing was going to take place. The camera was one of several, placed far from the epicenter of the explosion, but several kilometers within the radius of affected land.

As one, the group snapped to attention when the door opened and in stepped the General. General Thaddeus E. Ross, affectionately known as 'Thunderbolt Ross' for his volatile temper. Behind him trailed several other government officials, and one girl; Betty Ross, the General's daughter. She glanced in Bruce's direction and offered a soft, sweet smile.

General Ross was making some grandiose speech, something about "sacrifices for your country" and "you're even better than Stark Industries", but the young scientist was too busy blushing to care about what the man was saying.

A sharp elbow jabbed into his side, and Bruce jumped in place before hurriedly raising his hand up to salute with the rest of the team, praying that Ross hadn't noticed. No one immediately started scolding him out loud, so he was good. Ross moved to the control panel, motioning to the nearest underling - Bruce - to type in the complex access code. Swallowing, the young scientist tentatively tapped the keys in the order he had memorized, and one large red button in the middle of the setup illuminated with a tantalizing red glow. With a pause for dramatics, Ross punched down the button, and a countdown started. The bomb would be dropped in ten minutes.

The screen flicked to another camera, located right where the bomb would detonate, clock ticking in the corner. Suddenly, a spot of red flashed in the bottom right corner. Bruce focused in on the blob of color; then gasped, as he realized that there was a person - a mere teenager, maybe a year older than him - who had driven into the testing radius, right under where the bomb was going to be dropped in fact. The guy didn't even seem alarmed; more likely than not, he didn't realize that anything was going to happen to him in the next ten minutes - no, nine minutes fifty seconds.

"There's someone out there!" Bruce called out. "The bottom right of the screen!" The other scientists looked to what had caught his attention, then began worriedly muttering among themselves.

Finally, Stravinsky spoke up. "Zat dumb kid isn't our concern. Why bother vith him? There's next to neit chance ve'd get zere in time."

"We have to try," Bruce argued. "Delay the countdown. I'll get him out of range."

"Bruce, that's crazy!" Brian exclaimed. "Too many things could go wrong - it's not our fault he drove onto an active nuclear testing zone!"

"But it is our fault if we stand by and do nothing!" Bruce fired back. Without another word, he shoved his way to the door, slamming it shut behind him and cutting off his father's shouts.

The rain lashed at his skin, soaking through his lab coat in seconds. Pulling out his phone, Bruce opened a compass app. After a few seconds of squinting through the rain, he commandeered a motorcycle (it totally wasn't intentional that he chose Stravinsky's) and drove due northwest. If he moved as fast as possible, he could reach the camera's location within six minutes, and out of range in the next six. Throw in another minute for insurance, plus the minute that had already elapsed, and he needed four extra minutes to get the guy into the bunker; hopefully they could be given to him, if the test was delayed properly.

Little did he know that Stravinsky, delegated the task of sending delaying instructions to the remote missile launcher, was gleefully pressing the 'delete' button every single time he received a new code.

Blinking his eyes furiously against the rain, Bruce could just barely make out the glow of headlights ahead of him. Another fifteen seconds and he pulled up beside the beat-up vehicle. The older teenager had been staring off into the distance, and he initially didn't turn as Bruce pulled to a sharp stop.

"I told you, I'm done with your bull -" he turned and caught sight of Bruce. "Wait - who are you? Why are you wearing a lab coat?"

Bruce ignored his confused queries, as he exclaimed, "No time! There's a missile test kilometers from here very soon - we need to get out of range of its effects, now."

Thankfully, the older kid leaped into his car without any more questions, and started off, Bruce following close behind. 7 minutes 35 seconds since the countdown started… He mentally started ticking off the seconds, hoping they could make it in time.

At 8 minutes 20 seconds, he realized that the teenager's car had moved right next to him, and the window rolled down. The guy tried to yell something out, but the rain and the speed at which they were moving drowned out his voice. Bruce shook his head, pointed forward, and mimed a keep going. Undeterred, Mr. Dumb Teenager pulled even closer, to where Bruce could just make out his voice: "Who are you? How do I know this isn't a prank?"

Bruce shouted back, "I'm Bruce Banner. Do you really want to take any chances? I've helped with this bomb for a year now, I'm probably the only one who bothered to make any real predictions on its effects. If we don't get clear, we're in trouble."

"Another genius teen?" grumbled the guy. "I thought all of them were in an 'unidentified location in Afghanistan.'"

"I don't know Anthony Stark," Bruce replied, exasperated. "I'd like to meet him someday, which I can't do if we're utterly destroyed by this bomb!"

Mr. Teenager finally nodded, swinging away across the now muddy ground. Bruce followed, knowing that soon, they would be running on borrowed time.

9 minutes since countdown.

Bruce's thoughts wandered to his father. What was his dad thinking? Worry probably dominated his thoughts - Brian may not have won a Father-of-the-Year award, but Bruce wasn't dumb enough to think that his father didn't care.

9 minutes 5 seconds.

If the bomb hadn't been delayed, the preparation would start in 25 seconds, launching the bomb at T- 10 seconds. Detonation at T- 0, leaving them a minute away from safety.

9 minutes 10 seconds.

God, he hoped they hadn't screwed up the calculations…

What would his dad do if this all went to hell? Bruce was already expecting a grounding if he got back from this alive, but if he didn't? What if they found his body, buried in the sludge that was the ground around them? What if he survived… but didn't come back the same?

9 minutes 15 seconds.

A few scant seconds and he would know if the efforts of the other scientists had paid off.

9 minutes 20 seconds.

Who was he kidding? Of course everything was fine. These were some of the most accomplished scientists of his dad's generation. They could figure out how to delay a bomb for five minutes.

9 minutes 25 seconds.

All these thoughts were ramblings that he would look back on and laugh at when they were out of this mess; him, his dad, even Mr. I'm-Too-Good-For-You Teenager, all safe and sound-

9 minutes 30 seconds.

VROOOO

A gigantic gate opening, miles away. Unveiling a huge gamma bomb.

Did he actually hear that? Maybe it was just his paranoid imagination -

Mr. Too-Fine Teenager glanced at him worriedly through his car window, asking a silent question - Did you hear that?

No. He didn't. It was his imagination. Stupid brain going into stupid situations where stupid scientists failed at their stupid job and got them all killed.

9 minutes 40 sec - actually, screw that, the bomb was most likely going off in 20 seconds, they had 20 seconds to get about 2 miles away.

The humming intensified, the insistent sound burrowing into his brain. He could hear Mr. Teenager yell - probably asking What the ding-dong is that noise - but he couldn't make anything specific out. They had no chance of getting out of range in time.

17 seconds.

Time for some improvisation.

Slamming down on the motorbike's horn, Bruce swerved away from the path to the base, closer to the piles of boulders that littered the ground. He could hear Mr. Teenager follow him as he weaved around the structures.

"These rocks have a significant amount of lead in them," the scientist muttered to himself. "If there's a big enough crack in one of these piles, maybe, just maybe…"

15 seconds.

There! A long tear in a pile straight ahead. Bruce slided to a stop in front of it, jumping off the bike as Mr. Teenager mirrored his actions, until they were both standing in front of the crack.

10 seconds.

"Get in there!" Bruce shouted, shoving the older boy towards the narrow gap.

Shaking his head and trying to stand firm, Mr. Teenager replied, "No! There's not enough room for you!"

5 seconds.

"There's not enough time for either of us!" Bruce growled, finally winning the fight of force and sending Mr. Teenager flying into the safety of the crevice.

3 seconds.

This was it. All of the surrounding piles were rock-solid. There wasn't even a ditch around here, not that a ditch would do anything against the bomb. He was practically dead meat.

2 seconds.

But Mr. Teenager was safe.

1 second.

Hey, maybe without Bruce, they wouldn't want to make another bomb.

0 seconds.

Wishful thoughts are good to leave off on.

Bombs away.

And to my wonderful reviewer, forsakenfoxshadow: Thank you! The driver was on their phone, and my trainer opted to get hit rather than the student on another horse. They're both fine now! And thank you again!

Hopefully I won't disappear for three months before the next update! See ya!

~Horseluv