CHANGES

By Derrick Ferguson

The three men moved slowly over the blasted landscape. They had no choice but to move slowly since they were garbed in bulky protective gear that greatly resembled spacesuits worn by American astronauts. But these suits were designed to protect their wearers from many different forms of lethal radiation. In addition, the suits were equipped with telemetry recorders; similar in function to aircraft black box recorders. In the event the wearers of the suits died the information they had accumulated would be sent back to their home base.

They walked slowly, allowing the sensors built into their suits to do their work, assimilating data that would be evaluated by the finest scientific and military strategic minds in the world. The ground under their booted feet was smoking black powder. The temperature of the area was still 75,000 degrees Fahrenheit. A perfect circle some 5 miles in diameter had been pulverized into powder 57 miles east of Las Vegas. The city was going absolutely nucking futs thinking that it was a terrorist attack that had gone wrong. Perhaps a missile that had missed the city and landed short of Vegas. Or maybe a crazed man with a suitcase bomb who had dropped the damn thing or the timer was off.

The airports had had to be shut down completely and both regular Army and National Guard troops had to quickly mobilize to assist in controlling and containing the panic as massive droves of out of state tourists had besieged the airports, demanding immediate flights back home. Roadblocks of tanks had swiftly been set up to prevent panicky citizens from driving out of the area. But nothing could prevent the damned press from getting hold of the news and that was all she wrote.

Naturally those nations hostile to The United States had immediately issued public statements to the world press saying that they had no part in it…whatever IT was because it was still a mystery. All anybody really knew was that something that looked one hell of a lot like a massive nuclear explosion had gone off out there in the desert. But while there was an extraordinary amount of heat, there was very little radiation output and certainly nothing like what a nuclear bomb would have put out. The damn thing had shown up on satellites orbiting 22,000 miles above The Earth. S.H.I.E.L.D. and Reed Richards had been contacted by The White House to ask if they had any idea what the hell was going on. S.H.I.E.L.D. was scrambling to put together a press conference while Reed Richards’s holographic answering service regretted that The Fantastic Four was busy with other matters but as soon as they were able, The Fantastic Four would be more than happy to investigate. And as for The Avengers, well…they were always busy somewhere saving the world so that left the job of investigating the blast to The United States Army.

Captain Anthony Lancaster was second in command of Hulkbuster Base and while Lt. Colonel Hardbottle was away on leave it fell to Lancaster to take charge of the investigation. And with good reason. Hardbottle had informed Lancaster that Jim Hammond was going to be assisting Hardbottle in the search for Dr. Robert Bruce Banner, aka The Hulk. And to Lancaster’s eyes it looked as if Hammond had indeed found The Hulk.

Lancaster led the other two men over the blasted land as strong desert winds threw black soot into their faceplates. They were walking through a sandstorm of black grit and pulverized sand.

“Sir?” The electronic transmission came through with hisses and pops and crackling due to the extreme heat of the blast area.

“What is it, Bancroft?” The HUD in Lancaster’s helmet gave him not only the location of the other two men in his team but also the location of the six helicopters hovering above them. Lancaster turned in the direction of Bancroft, who was to his left. He could see the lieutenant waving him over. Lancaster ponderously walked over to where Bancroft was slowly kneeling down to dig and something buried in the ground under a mound of black soot.

“I wouldn’t have even known he was here if I hadn’t stepped on him, sir!” Bancroft screamed. He was hearing the howl of the desert wind over the secondary auditory receptions in his suit, not realizing that his speech was being carried over the primary audio channel which not only relayed his information to Lancaster but also to a secure chamber back at Hulkbuster Base where some extremely nervous men were awaiting word on what they had found.

Their bulky gloved hands shoveled away the soot, uncovering the red-and-yellow garbed form of a powerfully built blond haired man who looked to be in his early to mid-thirties. His eyes were closed and his face was in peaceful repose.

“Sir? Is this him? Is it The Human Torch?”

“Yes…it’s him.”

“Shouldn’t somebody contact The Fantastic Four and inform them we’ve found him?”

“It’s not that Human Torch, Lieutenant. This is The Original Human Torch…Jim Hammond!”

“Oh. But wasn’t he deactivated or something after World War II?”

“No, he wasn’t!” Lancaster snapped and stood up. “Spread out! Look for The Hulk’s body! If Hammond’s here he was fighting The Hulk and his body should also be here somewhere!”

“Are you sure of that, sir?”

“No, I’m not. But if you know like I know you’ll start praying to every god you can think of. Matter of fact; make up a few just to be on the safe side. Because if we don’t find The Hulk’s body that means he’s still alive and if he is I don’t even want to think about how royally PISSED he is right now.”

A shambling figure stumbled through the blinding soot storm. The skin of this wretch was completely and totally black. The rough, pebbly skin looked petrified. The breathing of this creature was a laborious wheeze, his lungs sounding more like bellows of metal and canvas than fleshy tissue. One single eye stared straight ahead with manic intensity. The other was covered by hard, bony growths, as was much of that side of the creature’s head, giving it a grotesquely lopsided look.

Bruce Banner could not remember the last time he had been in so much pain. That bastard Hammond had hurt him worse than he had been hurt in a long time. The pain that rippled through his body was searing, as if every nerve was being stroked with brushes dipped in acid. He struggled to breathe through lungs that rebelled at the very air coming into them as he made his way back to his secret lab. There was no telling how much damage had been done to him and he would need the instruments and the devices in his secret lab to determine that. With the assistance of The Leader and those devices he would be able to tell just how much Hammond had hurt him.

The hidden hatch was difficult to find and took him some time, with much laborious bending and digging but at last he found it and pulled it open. Hissing from the agony in his joints he climbed down the ladder and staggered through the long stone corridor leading to his lab, calling for The Leader in a grinding voice that was totally unlike his normal, scholarly tone. Bruce entered the lab proper and looked around, his one good green eye staring open wide in shocked, horrified surprise.

Everything was gone. EVERYTHING.

Where there had been tables laden with equipment and gleaming instruments, there was now an empty chamber. Bruce walked through every room of the underground lab. The jeeps were still there but the room where the three gamma radiation projectors had been kept was empty as well. All his diagnostic computers and molecular cellular scanners were gone. All his nuclear biochemical equipment was GONE. GONE. He made his way to the panic room where The Hulk had told The Leader to hide. The communications equipment was still there but smashed beyond repair and of The Leader there was no sign.

Bruce wobbled on unsteady legs to the bathroom and cut on the light. He looked at himself in the mirror. A groan of despair erupted from his chest like the foulest of vomit. His skin appeared to be ossified. Flat black in color with grotesque lumps and growths the color of charcoal covering every single inch of his body. Bruce Banner goggled at himself with horror in his one good green eye.

An animal howl of desperation filled the underground lab as Bruce fell to his knees, pounding the uncaring floor with his fists, screaming over and over, unable to stop himself from screaming as a dreadful panic he had not felt since the day he first became The Hulk raged through his soul.

The warehouse located on San Francisco’s waterfront was deceptively normal looking from the outside. The battered, rusted sign proclaimed the building to be NOCENTI TRANSPORT AND STORAGE. A long, low building with filthy, grimy windows. They were that way for a reason. At least once a week the men who worked in the warehouse would deliberately mix dirt and water to make mud and smeared it on the outside of the windows to make it near impossible for the curious passersby to see what was going on inside. And much was going on indeed.

The inside of the warehouse was filled with armored vehicles. Humvees, half-tracks and armored cars that were parked in even rows. Some were in a garage area in the back where their armor was being reinforced and suspensions modified so that the vehicles could take the weight of the added armor.

Sixteen men were working inside the warehouse. Infamous men who were making a truly good dollar from selling these vehicles to various criminal gangs up and down The West Coast. It was truly a lucrative business and they were branching out, selling the vehicles to terrorist groups operating in The United States. The armored vehicles were perfect for bank robberies. The robbers would simply smash into the bank with the armored vehicles, shoot up the joint and grab whatever they could and drive off like Goggles Pizanno going home to work on the freeway while the local police were unable to stop the high-powered vehicles.

Harry Banks sat quietly in his office, checking off delivery dates and times in a small black loose-leaf notebook that never left his person even when he slept where it was taped under his right armpit. When he showered, the book went into a small waterproof bag and the bag’s strap secured around his wrist. A small man, maybe only an inch or two over five feet he was nonetheless on The FBI’s 10 Most Wanted List. A dangerous man with an unhealthy thirst for violence, this whole racket was his idea and it had put eleven million bucks into his various bank accounts around the world. But it was time to haul ass and get in the wind. Paid informants had advised Harry that a special government agent had been assigned to his case and this special government agent was bad medicine. Harry was thinking he’d leave behind this operation and maybe start it up again in South America. The only question was what to do with his crew…

A booming sound came from the front of the warehouse. The sounds of men working immediately ceased. Harry reached into a desk drawer and withdrew a Browning automatic and checked the clip to make sure it was full. He trotted out into the warehouse where his crew was quietly and efficiently preparing their weapons. Harry ran to the front of the warehouse. The banging was coming from the smaller side door just the left of the huge corrugated metal roll-up door that was used to allow trucks entrance and exit.

Harry pressed the intercom to TALK and said; “Yes? Who is this, please?” There was a chance it could be some square citizen who was actually looking for a legit transport and storage business and Harry would rather not have to kill some yahoo who had family and friends that would actually miss him and file a missing person’s report with the police. But there was no answer. Harry thumbed the button again. “Who is it? Whaddya want?”

“Candy gram for Mongo.”

What th’ fuck? Harry thought. He cocked his weapon and raised it. “Who are you, buddy?”

“Land shark.”

Harry whipped open the door and leaped out, his gun ready for anything. But he wasn’t ready for a huge hand that effortlessly seized him with a terrible power that numbed his whole body. The gun dropped from a hand that had suddenly gone dead and Harry was yanked upwards into the air to look into a grinning face that looked a whole lot like the actor Dennis Franz from NYPD Blue. However this was a Dennis Franz look-alike who stood at an amazing 6’11″ and looked to weigh somewhere around 400 pounds.

“How ya doin’, Harry? I’m Agent Bullet and you’re under arrest.”

Bullet slammed Harry against the wall and let him drop unconscious to the ground. Bullet charged into the warehouse, moving as if he weighed 40 pounds instead of 400. His pear-shaped body, garbed in a steel-blue jumpsuit with a single white stripe going from the toe of his left boot all the way up the front to end at his left shoulder, ran with an awesome, terrifying precision and grace. It was like watching an elephant that had suddenly gained the fleet-footedness of an Olympic sprinter. Machine fire chattered as Harry’s crew opened fire.

Bullet zigzagged around the parked vehicles with an elegance that would have wrung tears of ecstasy from the eyes of an NFL coach as he got in close and seized a midnight black Humvee. With one smooth motion, Bullet lifted it up, used it s shield to advance on the enthusiastically firing thugs. 9mm slugs spanged and ricocheted off the Humvee. Curses filled the warehouse as Harry’s crew dived out of the way. The din of metal banging against metal was deafening as Bullet charged, the bumpers of the Humvee scraping the sides of parked vehicles to his left and right, throwing showers of fat orange sparks into the air.

Bullet flung the Humvee and it smashed into an armored car and both vehicles slid across the concrete floor as if they were on roller skates, mashing into bodies. Bones snapped and popped, blood gushing from eyes, noses and mouths as internal organs burst. The vehicles crashed into the far wall, pulped bodies caught between and pulverized into gelatin.

“Git ‘IM!”

“Where’d he go? Sweet Baby JESUS, where did he GO?”

“Who IS that guy? How can somebody that goddamn BIG-”

Bullet leaped up and over another armored car and came down right in the middle of Harry’s crew. His grin was wide and terribly friendly as he went to work. His fists pistoned out and two men went flying across the warehouse to smash through the dirty windows and they lay on the filthy cold concrete outside, their ribcages busted, splintered bone poking into their lungs, kidneys and livers. Bullet reached out a hand and seized another man by both his arms. He used him as a club, battering his fellows until they lay on the floor in ruined, shattered heaps.

Bullet stopped and threw aside the arms he had held. Sometime during the battering they had come loose from their owner. They hit the bloody floor with meaty thuds. Their former owner was lying at Bullet’s feet, dead from massive blood loss. His face was twisted on awful mask of terror. Bullet said in an awfully kind voice; “I think you need to see a doctor.”

Somebody with more guts than brains took a final stab at shooting Bullet in his broad back. His steel blue jumpsuit was constructed of a polycarbondium micromesh weave that stopped 9mm slugs with no problem but it was still annoying to be shot at. Bullet whirled and one size 20 foot lashed out to kick a Humvee into the air where it sailed upwards, just barely brushing the high ceiling of the warehouse. The shooter was standing on top of another Humvee and didn’t see what Bullet was doing until it was too late. He had time for one high-pitched shriek of terror before the dropkicked Humvee landed right on him.

The effect was the same as if an engorged tick had been smashed between two concrete blocks. Blood squirted out between the Humvees as the top one landed on the parked one with a horrendous crash of metal and the boom of bursting security glass.

And then it was all over. Bullet relaxed and spoke into the communicator strapped to his unnaturally thick wrists. “C’mon in, boys. And bring a whole LOTTA mops witcha.”

Lancaster looked through the window into a secure examination room of Hulkbuster Base’s infirmary. The Human Torch lay on a diagnostic bed while a team of doctors and technicians stood around scratching their heads. Lancaster ground his teeth in impatience and thumbed the intercom button.

“Dr. Houseman, what exactly are you people doing? I told you that I want that man revived at once!”

Dr. Houseman turned to face the window. A weary man of sixty-one, Houseman was quite fed up with Lancaster’s barking and yelling. Being left in command didn’t set too easily with the younger man. Hardbottle was an arrogant oaf but at least he had sense enough to leave people alone and let them do their jobs.

“Captain Lancaster, despite his name and appearance, The Human Torch isn’t a human man. He is perhaps the most sophisticated artificial life form ever created on this planet. Even today at our level of technology we still don’t understand much of what Dr. Horton did. We’ve never been able to identify the materials he used to create The Torch’s synthetic organs and artificial plasma. We-”

“Cut the bullshit. I want him up and around! I want to know what set off that blast!”

Houseman pointed at The Torch. “He did.”

Lancaster scowled. “Him? How?”

“If you’d bothered to read his file you would know that Hammond can ignite an effect he calls a ‘nova burst’ which releases all the stored power in his body in an explosion that produces the results we’ve seen. If I had to hazard a scenario as to what happened, I’d say that Hammond encountered The Hulk and they fought. Hammond was probably on the losing end of the fight and triggered his nova burst in a last ditch effort to destroy The Hulk.”

Lancaster’s scowl deepened. “Then why didn’t Hammond burn up as well?”

Houseman’s sighed deeply and rolled his eyes Heavenward as he replied in a voice he usually reserved for his 10 year old nephew when the lad asked why was water wet; “The Human Torch is immune to the effects of his own power, Captain. Otherwise he’d have burned to a crisp the very first time he flamed on.”

“Oh. Okay, then.” Lancaster hated dealing with Marvels and trying to keep track of how their stupid superpowers worked. Who in their right mind had the time to keep the backgrounds, histories and powers of the thousands of Marvels straight? “So why is he still unconscious?”

Houseman started to speak when suddenly, Jim Hammond convulsed and spasmed. His hands clenched and unclenched. His eyelids snapped open and Houseman could see that the whites of Hammond’s eyes had turned dead black. Jim said up straight, like a vampire rising out of his coffin. The doctors and technicians in the room stepped back, astonished by the sudden mobility of the android that had been lying there like a log. Jim’s hands went to his face and he took in a long, deep, bone-shaking breath and when his hands lowered, his eyes had returned to normal. He looked around at the amazed faces looking back at him. “Where am I?”

“Hulkbuster Base, Mr. Hammond. I’m Dr. Houseman and-”

“Secure that, Doctor! I’m in command here!” Lancaster’s voice whip cracked over the intercom. “Hammond, this is Captain Lancaster. I’m in charge of Hulkbuster Base while Colonel Hardbottle is away on business and I-”

“Then you need to stop braying like a jackass and search for The Hulk’s body and make sure he’s dead.”

“So you did fight him.”

“Yes.” Jim swung his legs off the table. “He hit me with a sonic boom and knocked me out of the air so hard that I was incapacitated. I had to trigger my nova burst to get him off me and my automatic systems put me into hibernation mode until my auto repair systems fixed the damage I suffered.”

“Mister, do you know that you’ve put the entire Armed Forces of The United States on Red Alert? The President had to take us to Defcon 2 because we didn’t know WHAT the hell had happened! I hope you can justify panicking the entire goddamn country!”

“Saving my life is enough justification for me, young man. And I am not used to being addressed in such a manner. Especially not by an officer that I technically outrank. You’ll keep a respectful tongue in your head when speaking to me, soldier. I was defending this country when your grandfather was in diapers. Now, I advise that you put me in touch with Hardbottle and you do ASAP or I will make it my business to make your life totally FUBAR.” The Human Torch glared at Lancaster through the window, his eyes outlined in an angry corona of solar energy.

Lancaster gulped and mumbled; “Yessir…right away…sir!”

Bruce Banner regained consciousness to find himself still lying on the bathroom floor. He’d passed out God only knew how long ago. He had to do something, call somebody. He needed a place to hide safely until he figured out just what had happened to him and how he could fix it. Bruce gripped the sink with both hands and pulled himself to his feet. And he saw something that made his good eye open wider with surprised hope. The fingers of his hands…the hands he had been pounding the floor with before passing out…the blackened, ossified skin had fallen off, leaving his fingers free.

Green fingers.

Bruce began tearing away at the blackened skin and he found that it was much like a scab. It pulled away from his body with some difficulty but away it came. Bruce laughed somewhat hysterically as he thought wildly:Thank you, God! Thank you. God! Thank you, Thank YOU, THANK YOU! He had been terrified that his skin would remain in that ossified state but apparently what had happened was that The Hulk’s healing factor had been pushed to extreme limits it had never been pushed to before and had taken equally extreme methods to protect The Hulk/Bruce Banner. The healing factor had obviously scabbed over Bruce’s entire body to allow him to regenerate new skin underneath.

Bruce yanked away the last of the body scab and looked at himself again in the mirror. “Oh…”

Not one trace of hair did he have on his body. Even his eyebrows and pubic hair was gone. Every inch of skin on his body was as smooth as the proverbial baby’s bottom. And that wasn’t even the worst of it. The worst of it was that his skin was the distinctive emerald hue of The Incredible Hulk. He was Bruce Banner, all right, but with The Hulk’s skin and that was NOT all right.

Bullet left the local cops and The F.B.I. to clean up. Harry Banks was still alive and Bullet had turned him over to the F.B.I. There would be no mention of Bullet in any official reports that would credit this as a joint San Francisco Police Department and Federal Bureau of Investigation operation. There would be letters of commendation all around. Except for Agent Bullet. There was a good reason for that. He did not exist. Oh, he had commendations and medals aplenty. And once a year he was flown to the secret underground complex in South Carolina where they were kept where he was allowed an hour just to look and hold them.

Bullet yawned and took his leave. Time for a few cold ones and then to bed. He’d be heading back to New York tomorrow and check on Lance. But a familiar voice from a darkened doorway changed all that.

“Nice to see you haven’t lost any of your fancy moves, Agent Bullet.”

Bullet turned and his narrowed eyes picked out a tall man standing some twenty feet away in the dark doorway of a pawnshop. “That’s a good way for a fella to get hisself killed.”

Hardbottle stepped out into the light. “After going though all you did to save my life in Malaysia, now you want to kill me?”

Bullet’s wide face broke into a delighted grin as he said; “Well, now I know I am truly well and be damned! Hardbottle! I heard you got your worthless black ass cashiered outta The Army! Didn’t I tell you back on Memory Bliss that they weren’t gonna put up with your bullshit forever?”

Hardbottle opened up his belted olive trench coat to show his Army uniform. “I’m still on Uncle Samuel’s payroll, Bullet. I’ll leave when I want to leave and not a second before.”

Bullet just couldn’t stop smiling. “Damn, it’s good to see you again, Hardbottle. Been too damn long since I seen a real friend.”

“How’s Lance doing?”

Bullet sighed wearily. “I got him in a special school in upstate New York. Place near Coxsackie. I come home one day after an assignment and found him tryin’ to bury himself in the backyard. Stupid kid coulda suffocated his stupid self.” Bullet shook his head sadly, slowly. “I didn’t wanna do it, Hardbottle. But you know how he is. The kid talks and acts so crazy sometimes I just couldn’t trust him alone anymore.”

“Hey, you did what you had to do, big man. I know full well how much you love that kid. Whatever you had to do I’m sure was in his best interests.”

“Yeah, well…only time will tell…” Bullet motioned for Hardbottle to walk with him and the two men fell into step, ambling easily down the street. “But you didn’t look me up just to talk over old times and ask about Lance. What’s up?”

“I’ve been put in command of Hulkbuster Base. And along with that comes the problem of The Hulk.”

“Good luck, pally. Whose wife or jailbait daughter did you screw to get stuck with THAT assignment?” Bullet pointed at a bar across the street and they headed for it.

“Thunderbolt Ross went and got his senile old ass killed. He sicced a bunch of obsolete Sentinels on The Hulk who ate ‘em for lunch. And I mean that literally. Anyway, The Vice-President wants me to find The Hulk and offer him a job.”

They entered the cool, dim interior of the bar. The bartender was reading a racing form and chewing on an unlit cigar. The five or six barflies inhabiting the joint didn’t even bother looking away from The A-Team rerun on the television as the door opened and closed noisily. Bullet sat on a stool that sagged slightly under his weight. They ordered drinks and Bullet resumed the conversation. “So tell me you’re shittin’ me with this mumbo jumbo about The Vice-President wantin’ to offer The Hulk a job. What kinda job?”

Hardbottle told him.

Bullet could only shake his head and say; “It can’t be done, man. Not even The Hulk could pull that off. I don’t care how strong he is or how smart Banner is. The Vice-President sends him to Genosha; he’s dead as Julius Caesar. But let’s say for the sake of argument he pulls it off…how does The Vice-President expect him to survive afterwards?”

Hardbottle grinned and took a swallow of his rum and coke. “That’s the beauty of it, my friend. He doesn’t. It’s such an elegant solution all way around I’m surprised nobody ever thought of it before.”

“So what do you need from me?”

“I’ve got a couple of suckers I’m gonna use for cannon fodder but I need a pair of eyes to watch my back I can trust and that’s you. How about it?”

“You’ve spoken to my bosses about this?”

“I have and I also told them something else and I’m telling you: this isn’t an order. It’s a request. It’s a favor I’m asking you for. I wouldn’t make this an order because you’ve got Lance to look out for and there’s a better than even chance this could end up bloody.”

Bullet laughed softly and took a swallow of beer. “Bloody don’t bother me, man. You need a helping hand…well, here it is.”

Bruce smashed the mirror with his green fist, consumed with the wild howling rage that despite the pain felt GOOD. DAMN Hammond for doing this to him and DAMN The Leader for stealing all his equipment when he needed it the most! How could he cure himself of THIS when he had no-

The familiar twisting sensation hit him right in the guts and a thunderbolt of white hot gamma charged adrenaline exploded in his brain and the bathroom whirled away, becoming a yawning green chasm and Bruce Banner dived into that chasm, allowing himself to be swallowed by a raging ocean of roaring red rage that lived within him constantly. The rage burst it’s bonds and ran riot in his mind and body. Bruce Banner’s rage took hold of him once more as his flesh reshaped itself to allow The Hulk to walk The Earth once more.

The Hulk looked at himself in the shattered remnant of the mirror then looked down at his hand. It was of course, completely healed, the green skin unbroken. The Hulk snarled with pleasure as he examined himself and found he was indeed as good as new, looking no worse the wear for his battle with The Human Torch.

HAMMOND! The Hulk leapt straight upwards, bursting through nine-hundred feet of steel re-enforced concrete to emerge in the desert, panting with fury. He threw back his huge head and let loose with a howl of murderous frenzy. That lousy bastard had actually hurt him! The next time he ran into that son of a bitch he would-

But there was an even bigger fish to fry. The last thought in Banner’s furiously enraged mind was The Leader’s betrayal and that was the thought that pounded in The Hulk’s brain like the tolling of a huge black bell deep in the cathedral of Hell: Get The Leader.

“Okay,” The Hulk muttered. “We get him. But we ain’t through with that bastard Hammond. Not by a long shot.” The Hulk’s head swiveled back and forth as if he smelled for some quarry but actually he was employing a seldom-used ability of his. The Hulk possessed a number of abilities that had nothing to do with his strength or his healing factor and appeared to be psychic in nature. He could see ghosts and astral figures. And he could find anybody on Earth he wanted to simply by concentrating on him or her. And that was what he was doing now, concentrating on The Leader so that he could-

BINGO. He had him.

The Hulk bounded into the air, leaving the secret lab behind him, leaving the desert behind him. He had his destination: Seattle. And if The Leader imagined he could steal from The Hulk and get away with it, he was wrong.

Dead wrong.

NEXT: Bruce Banner stumbles across a horrifying mystery in the majestic forests of The Pacific Northwest while The Original Human Torch and Hardbottle strike a deal of their own! And if that wasn’t enough, The Hulk goes toe-to-toe with the most unexpected guest-star of all!