It'd been a long journey to put together even a theoretical understanding of subatomic energy (colloquially known as gamma radiation). The process involved a long list of great thinkers -Planck and Einstein had originated the theories, Howard Stark and Jon Arkinshaw had built halfway practical formulae, and Banner brought dozens of loose ends together. (After he won his Nobel Prize, it had been difficult to explain the nature of his breakthrough to the mainstream press, his work went way beyond one 'eureka' moment.) There'd been a number of others who'd smoothed over the flaws he left, some of them now working under him.
Now, after several lifetimes of scientific, mathematical and technological breakthroughs, as his team stood on the verge of an energy revolution, all he could think about was his body's limitations.
The pain was unceasing. It had now been several days since the accident, and Bruce felt as if he had lived two lifetimes. His former life, full of drive, curiosity, loves and losses; and this lifetime, where his main concern was pain.
He wanted to be lucid enough to think, but several times he had demanded more morphine. He wanted his skin to heal, but had snapped at the nurses when his skin clung to the bandages as they were being changed.
This hadn't been his nature until recently. It had been stressful focusing a team full of brilliant theorists and exhausted technicians towards their common goal, while General Ross demanded that theorising halt and they press ahead with practical tests. But he had held his temper, even when it was difficult. There had been occasions when mathematical errors were made that he found obvious, or technicians approached tedious work in a slapdash manner. He would let them know that their actions were not acceptable, but he saw no benefit in yelling.
Plagued with constant pain, Bruce Banner now found himself more prone to anger. He didn't like himself when he was angry.
He lay awake, staring at the ceiling, trying to will himself to sleep. He could hear the moans of his fellow patients, and could feel his back spasming. He couldn't resist the urge to constantly move, just so the sensation of movement would distract him.
Bruce climbed out of bed, and walked across the ward. Even this was painful, but the effort needed to take the small baby steps focused his mind. He felt as if his lower legs were about to collapse under him as he dragged the wheeled morphine drip along behind him. The first bed – the one directly opposite Banner's – had the sheets pulled over the patient's head. Doctor Johnannsen's head. He was a good man, a family man. And now he was gone.
Banner lifted the chart from the end of Johannsen's bed.
The subatomic energy didn't seem to affect the laboratory machines at all. Banner wanted to see if he could figure out why its effect on humans was so wildly different to what was predicted. Though it was probably a medical issue, and beyond his expertise, it would at least occupy his mind, distract him from his guilt with the idea that he was at least trying to do something. If he could gather questions to throw at Doctor Sterns, maybe they could brainstorm something between them.
Though Johannsen's results had been quickly scribbled down, a pattern was clear – he had been getting better. Rapidly. His wounds were healing at a rate Banner found difficult to believe, and then his hormones shot up rapidly - a brain aneurysm had killed him.
Banner looked closely at the observations, his own pain fading into the back of his mind. He'd heard the term referring to the needlessly aggressive many times, but it seemed that Johannsen had been killed by excessive testosterone.