WHAT DO YOU GET WHEN YOU MIX RED AND GREEN?

Part I

By Derrick Ferguson

Mike’s Couch, Arizona, Pop: 1127
The Cold Bear Bar & Grill

“That skinny guy’s been sitting there all day long knockin’ ‘em back, Bobby.” Lydia Spotts said a little nervously. To understand Lydia’s nervousness, first of all you have to understand that Lydia had lived in Mike’s Couch all her thirty-three years, never traveling more than a couple hundred miles in any direction. She never had any reason to. The rest of the world terrified her, especially the big cities. It seemed as if every time you turned on the TV or radio there were supervillains or aliens or monsters attacking New York, Chicago, Los Angeles. And then there was what happened in Seattle.

Magneto never uprooted Mike’s Couch and suspended it a hundred miles above the Earth. The Avengers and The Masters of Evil never had a fight here. The Red Skull never tried to conquer Arizona. As far as Lydia was concerned, Mike’s Couch was the safest place on Earth and she planned to stay there.

As a consequence, strangers who came to town also made her wary. What if they were a supervillain on the run? Or maybe a Skrull? Lydia had heard plenty of stories about the Skrulls and how they could change shape. It gave her the creeps. Yet another reason to stay right where she was where she knew everybody, had known them all her life.

Bobby Levin cast watery pale eyes over at the man who had been sitting in the back booth most of the day. A fifth of whiskey stood nearby and he had indeed been knocking back shot after shot, one precisely every half hour. A plain black baseball cap was pulled low over his face, eyes hidden by cheap drugstore sunglasses.

“He ain’t botherin’ nobody. Man’s sittin’ there quiet as a rock drinkin’ in peace. Wish most of our regulars were like him. ‘Pears to me he’s a man with a lot on his mind and just wants a nice quiet bottle to help him think it out. Leave him be.”

“Still wish he’d say or do somethin’,” Lydia insisted. “Gives me the creeps.”

“Ev’rythin’ gives you the creeps, Lyd,” Sam McLong laughed. He’d been born in Mike’s Couch but unlike Lydia Sam had at least seen some of the world, thanks to The Marines. “You’re just miffed he ain’t flirtin’ with you!” Sam laughed again and turned back to working on his beer.

“Just don’t see why a stranger would come here, of all places, to drink. Plenty of other places for him to go. Why don’t he go there?”

Bobby frowned slightly. “Long as he’s doin’ what he’s doin’ the man can stay there until closin’ far as I’m concerned. And if you can’t find somethin’ to do, Lydia, I sure as hell can find somethin’ for you do. Startin’ with washin’ out th’ garbage cans.”

Lydia scurried away to indeed find something to do. But she resolved to keep her eyes on the stranger. At the very first sign he was up to something she’d scream so loud the shingles on the roof would shiver.
The TV over the bar was tuned to CNN. The Seattle disaster was on. Of course it was. There was nothing else happening in the world as far as anybody with half a spoonful of brains was concerned.

“Y’ask me, the gubmint’s to blame.” Renny Long, another regular patron was sitting next to Sam, matching him beer for beer.

“How so?” Bobby asked, not really caring but what else was there to do but listen to Renny’s bullshit? It wasn’t like Bobby hadn’t been listening to it for years now.

“They shoulda put The Hulk down years ago. You gonna tell me that them Avengers couldn’t a’done it? Don’t they got Cap’n ‘Merica on that team? Iron Man? That big blond guy with the mallet? What’s his name? Thor?”

Sam lifted his mug, indicting to Bobby he wanted a refill. “Not as simple as that. Been tried before. Didn’t work.”

Bobby drew Sam a draft as he said, “I dunno, Sam. Seems to me that Renny’s got hisself a valid point there.” Bobby placed the foaming mug of ice cold beer in front of Sam as he continued. “I read somewhere years ago that The Avengers turned back a whole space fleet of aliens comin’ to take us over. And ev’rybody knows how The Fantastic Four sent that Galacticus-“

“Galactus,” Sam corrected.

“-whatever. The point bein’ is that if they can do all that how come they can’t hogtie The Hulk and make him heel?”

“Not as simple as that. Been tried before. Didn’t work.”

“And now that I think on it, don’t that Mr. Fantastic guy have his own private universe somewhere? How come he don’t just stick The Hulk in that and get it over with? ‘Specially after that fight he had with The Thing in New York not long ago.”

Sam wiped foam from his mustache. “Not as simple as that. Been tried before. Didn’t work.”
Renny frowned. Renny was a man who frowned with his entire body. It was quite a sight to see. “You keep sayin’ that? Why?”

“ ‘Cause I seen what The Hulk can do close up. Just before I retired. The Hulk tore up Detroit somethin’ fierce. It’s easy for you to sit on this barstool and say; ‘Why doesn’t somebody capture The Hulk?’ But I seen him myself and I’m here to tell you that when you see him the only thing you can think to do is run for your life as far and as fast as you can.”

Renny snorted. “Yeah, but you’re a regular guy. Iron Man’s got that armor. Thor got that hammer.”

“He’s fought Thor a couple times, hasn’t he?” Bobby asked.

“I don’t think there’s anybody he hasn’t fought,” Sam replied. “Or beat,” he added meaningfully.

“I ain’t convinced,” Renny insisted. “I think the gubmint’s lettin’ The Hulk run around loose on purpose. Keeps us scared and worried ‘bout him rather than us being worried about what them senators and congressmen are doin’ behind closed doors.”

Amused, Sam asked; “And just what is it you think they’re doin’ behind closed doors, Renny? Coke and hookers?”

“Prob’ly the least of what they’re doin’,” Renny sniffed, indicated he wanted another beer.

Bruce Banner poured himself another shot and threw it back. Even though he’d been steadily drinking all day long his hand was steady as a steel beam resting on solid bedrock and he felt cold sober. In the past Bruce had stayed away from any substance liquid or otherwise than could cause him to lose control.
But he hardly had to worry about that now, did he?

Deep within him he could still feel the dark satisfaction The Hulk felt at unleashing so much carnage. Wild and hot was that black delight. And God help him, was he not enjoying it as much? Wasn’t it he who had at last taken off the last flimsy chains of restraint and given The Hulk free reign to rampage as he wished?

Yer as bad as me now, Banner. How’s it feel? How’s it FEEL?

But Bruce didn’t want to feel. That was why he was trying to drink himself into a black oblivion. It had seemed to work for his father. Wasn’t working so well for him, though. Bruce reached for the bottle again.
And that’s when the entire building shook. It was as if a tremendous fist had smacked the bar right in the side.

The three men at the bar were looking around in open mouthed astonishment and Lydia ran from the kitchen, shouting; “Is it an earthquake? Is it an earthquake?”

Bruce fumbled under the table for his backpack. He had a horrible sour feeling in his stomach and not just from the whiskey, either. They had found him. The Army, The Avengers, S.H.I.E.L.D., whatever. They’d tracked him down. His only surprise was that it had taken them this long.

The building shook again as it was again pounded by something on the outside that was obviously outrageously powerful. Bruce tried to yank his backpack from under the table but the whiskey had more of an effect on him than he had thought. All of a sudden his head was muzzy and his tongue felt thick and heavy.

Bobby had reached under the bar and come up with a Winchester that had been in his family for three generations. He tossed a .357 Magnum to Sam who caught it expertly, quickly checked to make sure it was loaded and slapped the cylinder home. Lydia continued her shrill screaming. Screaming that became even higher pitched as a fist smashed right through the wall.

A giant red fist.

Bruce decided to abandon the backpack and scrambled on hands and knees toward the exit. The giant red fist was joined by another fist that pulverized the wall, shattering it totally, collapsing it inwards. Bruce was showered with shards of stone and splinters of wood.

Bruce heard gunshots as Bobby and Sam opened fire on something that stepped into the bar. Something incredibly big. Bruce rolled over on his back, wiping dust out of his eyes, coughing from the dust.

The creature that stood over him had to be at least seven feet tall and easily a thousand pounds. The creature seemed to be nothing but massive muscle upon muscle. Fierce yellow eyes burned with a gleeful joy and its voice was a grinding purr of pleasure as it said; “Hiya, Brucie.”

Bruce could only stare up at the creature in horror and wonder if he’d lost his mind. The man monster standing before him was The Hulk.

But he was red. A red the color of freshly spilled blood.

“You’re just the man I wanna talk to, Brucie. What say we go somewhere private and talk.” The Red Hulk effortlessly picked up Bruce in one huge hand that easily wrapped around Bruce’s waist. The Red Hulk held Bruce close and sniffed. “You’ve got some soberin’ up to do, Brucie. Nothin’ like a little fresh air for that. C’mon.” And with that, The Red Hulk turned and with one thrust of his powerful leg muscles was gone.

Bobby lowered his Winchester and surveyed the rubble left behind by the man-monster. Lydia was lying on the floor, in a dead faint. Sam and Renny looked as if somebody had taken the lid off of the inner workings of Hell and given them a sneak peek. It was Bobby who broke the silence; “Y’know…Lydia just may have the right idea after all…”

The Sanctum Sanctorum
Greenwich Village, NYC

“Somehow I never thought of Doctor Strange having a TV.”

“The Master requires me to watch the local and international news programs and notify him if there are mundane matters that could indicate supernatural influences.”

“Guess he’s too busy to watch the news himself, huh?”

“I will admit that I did catch him here once or twice watching Lost.”

“Could the two of you please stop? I’m trying to watch this.”

Sleepwalker and Wong subsided as Dr. Leonard Samson stared intently at the 60 inch Panasonic HDTV. The Seattle disaster was on. Of course it was.

“You are disturbed by this, Dr. Samson,” Wong said. It was not a question.

“Of course I am. Bruce Banner and The Hulk…the green Hulk are my patients. I knew The Hulk was capable of horrendous destructive acts. But for The Hulk to have deliberately done something like this…there must have been some catastrophic psychotic break between his psyche and that of Bruce Banner’s. This level of death and destruction…”

Sleepwalker picked up on the pain in Samson’s voice. The man was the world’s leading authority when it came to superhuman psychiatry and Bruce Banner was both his greatest success and greatest failure. He’d been able to cure Banner temporarily on a number of occasions but never permanently and indeed, sometimes the cures had worsened Banner’s condition and thereby, increased the dangerousness of The Hulk.

“You’re not thinking maybe you had something to do with this, do you, Doc?”

“It’s been a while since I’ve treated Bruce but I’ve done a considerable amount of hypnosis and drug therapy on him in the past. Perhaps some residual effects of that-”

“Do not blame yourself, Leonard. What Bruce Banner has done is by his choice and his choice alone.” The somber voice of Doctor Strange filled the second floor study where Sleepwalker, Wong and Doc Samson had retired to wait for Dr. Strange while he used his mystic abilities to search for both the missing Sentry and The Red Hulk.

As part of Dr. Strange’s newly formed team of Defenders, Doc Samson had been too busy in recent days to keep up with the news so he was only now hearing of the Seattle disaster. He was now wishing that he’d never turned on the TV.

Dr. Strange entered the room, his Cloak of Levitation swirling around him as if it had a life of its own. “I am as distressed by this news as you are. But do not let your natural compassion cloud your professional judgment.”

“You speaking as The Sorcerer Supreme or as a medical man?”

“Neither. I speak as a friend to both Bruce Banner and The Hulk.” Dr. Strange stood with his hands clasped behind his back, staring intently at the carnage on the screen. “This seriously complicates the present situation. A situation that was already fraught with peril.”

Samson’s cell phone rang. He fished it out of a pouch on his belt and looked at it, groaned. “The White House. Hold that thought, Stephen.” Samson moved into the hallway and snapped the phone open.

Sleepwalker turned to Dr. Strange. “Y’know, things have been moving really fast since I hooked up with your outfit, Doc. I don’t know if I’m up to this.”

“You have been doing excellently so far, Mr. Sheridan. I see no reason why you should falter or doubt your abilities now.”

“Maybe I should if you’re going to do what I think you’re going to do.”

Doc Samson rejoined them, putting away his cell phone. “The Chief of Staff wants me to update my psychological profile on Bruce and fly down to Washington to consult on the situation. The President wants a new plan for dealing with The Hulk and he wants it a week ago.”

Dr. Strange managed to convey displeasure without changing the expression on his face in the slightest. “You will be leaving us, then?”

“Not at all. I’ve called my staff. They can do the necessary work. This is no time for me to be stuck in an office with a bunch of blue-suited bureaucrats when we’ve got two Hulks rampaging out there. I need to be out there finding them and doing my best to get them to surrender themselves to my care.”

“Perhaps the solution is to find Bruce Banner. We assumed that our Red Hulk went off in search of The Sentry when he said he was going hunting. That supposition may have been in error.”

“You think Big Red went looking for Big Green?” Sleepwalker asked. “Why?”

“In the past The Hulk…the green one…has demonstrated an ability to find anybody he wanted simply by concentrating on them. Bruce Banner himself could not give an explanation for why The Hulk possessed that ability. But then again, The Hulk has several abilities that defy explanation. For instance, The Hulk is able to see ghosts and astral forms. It could be that The Red Hulk shares these abilities.”

But Samson was shaking his head. “I don’t think so, Stephen. If he did he would have went after Bruce before now. There’s so much we don’t know about this Red Hulk but I do know one thing: he hates Bruce Banner.”

“How much?”

“A lot.”

Somewhere in Arizona

The ground vibrated thunderously as The Red Hulk landed. He opened his huge hand and let Bruce Banner tumble out of it. Bruce rolled over and over and came to a stop, covered from head to toe with dirt and sweat. He wiped his eyes clean and looked up in horror at the crimson colossus that loomed over him.

“Damn, Brucie…after Seattle I kinda thought you’d be living it up instead of getting stinko. Unless that is your idea of living it up.”

“Who are you?” Bruce croaked. His throat was so tight and tense he could barely get the words out.

“I’m The Hulk, stupid.”

“That’s impossible! I’m The Hulk!”

“And so you see the problem, don’t you?” The Red Hulk squatted on his haunches and grinned. Bruce felt his bowels quiver. The smell of madness was on this creature, so much like Bruce’s alter ego and yet there were differences.

“What do you want from me?”

“Is that anyway to talk to a fellow monster, Brucie? Even though I’m nowhere in your class. You’ve got years on me in that department. And I was hopin’ you’d help a fellow monster out.”

The early afternoon sun pounded mercilessly on Bruce, making him feel lightheaded. But the heat radiating from The Red Hulk was even greater.

“Funniest thing. I’m sittin’ in Doc Strange’s crib, mindin’ my own business when it was like somebody flipped a switch inside my head and suddenly I knew where to find you.”

Bruce shook his head, trying to clear it. He wondered if he was hearing correctly or if the man monster were delusional or just babbling. “Dr. Strange? You were in New York? In his house?”

“Your old shrink Doc Samson was there, too.”

“Are you crazy? What in the hell would Dr. Strange have you in his house for?”

“’Cause he needed a new pack of Defenders, that’s why.”

Bruce’s heart began to pound. Dear God…had Dr. Strange put together a team of Defenders to hunt him down? Bruce wouldn’t put it past him. Twice before Dr. Strange had exiled The Hulk to alien dimensions. Strange had always maintained that it was for The Hulk to be at peace. But what if it was really to get him off Earth? It would explain this Red Hulk. Could Strange have conjured up this creature using his mystic arts? Maybe this was a demon version of The Hulk? It would explain the red coloring.

“Anyway, that’s neither here nor there. You’re going to tell me who I am. Or I’m going to start doin’ interestin’ things to your body.”

“It won’t be that easy! You think I’m going to just stand here and take what you dish out?”

“If you were gonna change you’d have done so by now, Brucie. You’re all bluff and bluster.” The Red Hulk stood up. “Now are you gonna talk or am I gonna make you talk?”

“But I don’t know who you are! I didn’t even know you existed until a half hour ago!”

“LIAR!” the Red Hulk’s bellow was enough to make Bruce stumble backwards several steps. “I don’t know much about myself but I do know you. I hate you and there’s gotta be a reason. You turned yourself into The Hulk. Maybe you did the same to me. I dunno why and I don’t care. You’re gonna tell me who I am and who did this to me or I’m gonna pop you like a pimple.”

The Red Hulk abruptly stood up.

Bruce Banner’s system threw itself into overdrive. Massive amounts of adrenaline flooded his system as sheer panic took over, driving every rational though out of his logical mind and stripping him down his basic core imperative as a human being: survival.

Bruce screamed and threw himself at the Red Hulk who slapped him aside with a contemptuous snort. Bruce flew some fifty feet through the air and landed hard, yelling in pain as he felt ribs in his left side snap.

And that sudden, stabbing pain like a red-hot pitchfork being jammed into him did the trick.

A roar emerged from Bruce Banner’s throat. A roar that was inhuman, a roar of primal rage and bloodlust. His clothing shredded as layer upon layer of muscle rippled under skin that rapidly turned a deep shade of green. Bone thickened until it was denser than any known metal on Earth short of adamantium.
Bruce Banner had hit the ground but it was The Incredible Hulk who got to his feet and grinned at his crimson counterpart.

“You wanna talk ta somebody, red ass? Don’t talk ta that pussy Banner. Talk ta me.”

The Red Hulk cracked his knuckles and it sounded like boulders colliding. “Truth be told, I’d rather we do it this way. It’ll be a helluva lot more fun beatin’ the shit outta you than Banner. And once I pound you into paste, you’ll change back to Banner and I can still get what I wanna know out of him.”

“You talk too much.”

Hot yellow eyes burned into savage emerald eyes.

Red lips curled back from wide teeth and were matched by green lips stretching into a brutal grin.

The two Hulks charged at each other and it was on.

NEXT: In The Defenders #10, it’s Hulk vs. Hulk as the green goliath squares off against the crimson colossus! Can Dr. Strange, Doc Samson and Sleepwalker stop such an epic battle or will they themselves be casualties of war? Then come on back to The Incredible Hulk #16 for the conclusion of “What Do You Get When You Mix Red And Green?”