Hulk by Peter David (e reader manga TXT) 📕

considering the track record of their relationship, the one that Thunderbolt Ross would most likely be worried about was Glen Talbot. Still, she felt as if she had to do something, and her father seemed the best way to go.

At that moment, Harper called out through the intercom. “Um, I think the circuit kind of fried, or—I don’t know. Maybe you want to take a look.”

“Okay, hold on,” said Bruce.

Bruce went into the experiment area, picking up a respirator mask. He entered the clean room, mask in hand, and Betty was watching Harper’s continued efforts with the interlock switch when it suddenly shorted out. Sparks jumped from it, and Harper let out a high-pitched, shrill, and startled scream. Lights began to flash and a quiet, firm recorded female voice began reciting a countdown to what would most assuredly be total disaster.

The sound of Harper’s scream briefly froze Bruce in the clean room, his mask still dangling from his hand. Then Bruce saw the flashing lights, heard the commencement of the countdown, and still couldn’t quite process what had just happened. So this is how it starts, he thought as the lights flashed as though the lab were some theater announcing to its patrons that intermission was nearing its end. He heard the countdown heading down from twenty, still figured that there was time to avert a complete and total disaster, as long as Harper got clear of the gammasphere. . . .

And it was at that instant, of course, that the panicking Harper, trying to back out of the gammasphere, snagged his mask on one of the protruding alignment rods. Such was his state of dismay that he obviously had no clear idea of what he’d just done. All he knew was that, all of a sudden, he couldn’t move his head. He yanked it from one side to the other and flailed his arms, looking like a demented radiation scientist trying to hail a fleet of cabs.

Bruce didn’t panic in the slightest. His heartbeat never even sped up. He did, however, allow himself to reflect on the irony of Betty’s frustration with his perpetual equanimity. Harper most certainly allowed himself to be governed by his emotions, and look where it had gotten him: snagged like a hooked fish inside a chamber that was about to go hot with enough rads to flash-fry a mastodon. Three cheers for emotions, while they’re busy getting you killed.

Instead of getting upset, Bruce sprinted into the gammasphere and pulled the snagged mask free. Harper stumbled and Bruce caught him. The last thing he needed was Harper falling and knocking himself cold. He wasn’t thrilled by the prospect of trying to haul Harper’s unconscious body out of the sphere.

“Bruce! The interlock!”

He whirled and instantly saw the problem. Betty wasn’t panicking; she was far too professional for that. But she was barely keeping a lid on as she worked frantically at Harper’s station trying to shut down a system that had no intention of shutting down, thanks to the short circuit.

“Interlock door should now be secure,” the countdown reminded them helpfully. “Ten . . . nine . . . eight . . .”

The interlock door remained open, putting the entire lab facility at risk the moment the gamma cannon went off, discharging its particles into the air. She was hammering at the keyboard in a manner reminiscent of anyone who’d ever had a computer freeze up on them, except the stakes were far higher than a melted hard drive. They’d all be melted if the interlock couldn’t be shut down.

“. . . seven . . . six . . .”

Rick the frog watched with, at best, mild interest.

“. . . five . . .”

Bruce looked at Harper, at Betty, at the interlock, at the mask in his hand . . .

And dropped the mask. There was no time, and it was just one more thing cluttering up his grip.

“. . . four . . . three . . . two . . .”

In a desperate move, Bruce hurled Harper backward, sending him tumbling out of the gammasphere.

“. . . one . . . zero. Nanomeds released. Engaging gamma cannon.”

He heard the hissing in the gammasphere. It was louder than he would have thought, always having heard it from behind thick glass. And louder still was the whirring and clicking of the gamma canisters locking into place, the whining of the cannon as it powered up.

When he was younger, Bruce Krenzler had seen a war film in which one guy threw himself on a grenade in order to save his platoon buddies. There had been much animated discussion as the kids had all wondered whether they would have what it took to knowingly lay down their lives in that one ultimate, heroic burst of action. All of them came to the conclusion that, hell, yes, they’d be the ones taking a swan dive on a bomb rather than be one of the guys trying to run in the other direction. Only Bruce had said, “I don’t know what I’d do,” and had naturally been subject to ridicule for admitting it. But he had looked deeply into the eyes of the other kids, and he had fancied that in their gazes he was able to perceive fear and uncertainty. It was one thing to talk a good game, but another to act upon it when crunch time came.

With all of that, Bruce was somewhat surprised to find himself barreling forward before he’d even made up his mind consciously about what he’d do. His response was entirely automatic. He had no idea if it was even going to work: This was radiation, not shrapnel. It was far less predictable. But his mother had always had a saying: “One choice is no choice.” And that was what Bruce was left with.

He slammed himself against the muzzle of the gamma cannon, blocking the opening, just as the canisters released. He heard Betty screaming, Harper crying out in alarm, heard the