The pain was overwhelming - Banner felt himself thrashing around involuntarily as the soldiers moved the roller stretcher through the corridors. Each of the four were wearing Hazmat suits, two of them stood at either end of the stretcher, one ensuring the doors were opened ahead of them, another supervising his movement.
Though he was still lucid enough to take in most of what was happening around him, his body raged against his control. The pain in his stomach was intense, the back of his neck felt as if it was engulfed in flames, and spasms of agony fired up his legs again and again.
"Lie still Doctor Banner. You don't want to roll off the stretcher."
The voice of the soldier, assertive but gentle, was muffled by the suit, but Bruce could still understand his instructions. He felt as if there was a new source of pain forming in every moment. Looking at the back of his left hand, he was struck by how widespread the erythema was. The top layers of his skin were burnt away in large sections across his hand, inspiring a sense of panic at how bad it may be elsewhere. There were large blisters between his index and middle finger and on the palm of his right hand. Looking at them, he became aware of sensations he hadn't been aware of before. The pain was from everywhere. His lower jaw suddenly clenched, as Bruce was unable to ignore the burning sensation from inside his mouth. Moving his tongue along the inside, his mouth was dry and rough.
He felt a tear running down his cheek. It felt warm, but he couldn't tell how far it ran. Had it been halted by some unseen blistering on his face? Bruce panicked. How badly was his scarring? Would he ever recover?
"Doctor Banner."
The voice was still firm, and compassionate. But there was a sense of irritation that was new.
"Listen to me, Doctor Banner. We're taking you to the infirmary. But if you keep on squirming, you may fall off the stretcher. You've got to try and stay still."
The corridor rushed past. Bruce had walked the corridors of Los Diablos for months, but now they were little more than a blur. The walls looked white, rather than their more subtle eggshell shade, and the light through the windows was blinding. No matter how hard he tried, Bruce couldn't help but squirm.
How bad were his burns? Was there any chance of him getting out of this alive? What about the others - how widespread was the explosion?
Banner's query came out as an indecipherable mumble.
"Try not to talk Doctor Banner. Your body's been damaged, and that includes your vocal chords."
Banner needed to know. If he simplified his statement, then maybe he could make himself understood.
"Others."
His pronunciation was far from his crisp and clear norm, his 'th' sounded more like an 'f', or even a 'v'. But it should be clear enough.
"They're in the infirmary too. Don't worry, we were prepared for this kind of emergency."
How many of his close colleagues and friends were affected?