Hulk by Peter David (e reader manga TXT) 📕

“Betty,” he moaned.

“Send as much backup as you want, Dad,” she said quickly. “Have troops following us with a dozen stun guns set to knock Bruce cold if he so much as starts humming ‘It’s Not Easy Being Green.’ But I’m telling you that this place, Desert Base, particularly the area that was never rebuilt, is a huge, gaping hole in his life. The . . . the ‘Hulk’ side of him . . .”

“Hulk,” snorted Ross. “That’s what they’re calling him, isn’t it? Me, I call him ‘Angry Man.’ Helps to remember just what it is that gives your enemy his power.”

“He’s not your enemy, Dad, and not mine. What I was saying is that the Hulk represents the emotional gap in Bruce’s life caused by his lack of memory of his early years. If he has any hope of ever controlling the Hulk . . . of controlling himself . . . of living anything vaguely resembling a normal life, he needs to see and experience the part that was lost to him for so long. Dad . . .”—she wrapped both arms around his one—“I know you hold his father responsible for a lot. God knows I do at this point, as well, starting with the fact that he tried to turn me into Purina gamma chow. But please, I’m begging you, don’t punish the son for the sins of the father. The son saved me. He may not have been himself, but he saved me. That’s got to count for something.”

Thunderbolt let out a long, unsteady, and frustrated breath. “You, young lady, had better be right about this.”

“I’m your daughter, Dad.” She smiled. “How can I ever be anything but right?”

One of Bruce’s earliest memories—he knew his memories didn’t go as far back as most people’s—was from a time when he was about nine years old. His mom had taken him on a road trip, and they’d stopped at a place that billed itself as a genuine “ghost town.” Young Bruce had found the notion terribly appealing, envisioning spooks and shades drifting from one building to the next, caterwauling and “oooooohing” as they went. He’d been disappointed to discover that it was a tricked up, touristy Western theme park, with cheesy employees decked out in even cheesier costumes. He’d kept a resolute face and told his mom that it was well and truly a nifty place, and even fooled his mother into thinking he was scared a couple of times.

But it had been something of a letdown, and he’d become convinced that the concept of a “ghost town” was charming, but no more based in reality than any other mythic notion.

It turned out he was wrong. As he and Betty walked through what had once been the bustling commercial district outside Desert Base, he knew that he was in a genuine ghost town. In his imagination, he could actually see and hear people long gone walking around and chatting and enjoying life, linked by the army family they all shared.

That was no longer the case. The base had been rebuilt over the years, but things were different now. Everything was kept low key and under cover, so as not to alarm the skittish residents of nearby cities who dreaded the thought of research at the base. At least, that was how it was explained to Bruce.

Their first moments together, once Bruce had fully recovered his ability to communicate, had been awkward. “I’m sorry,” she had started to say to him.

But he had cut her off almost immediately. “No. You’re not,” he had said flatly. “You knew what you were doing, calling in your father and his people. And given the exact same circumstances, you would do exactly the same thing again, wouldn’t you?”

She had begun to protest . . . then looked down, unable and unwilling to respond. That alone had told him that she knew he was right. And then, to Betty’s surprise—and, to some extent, his own—he had reached a finger under her chin and tilted her head up to look him in the eyes.

“All this time you’ve been telling me that I’m too rational, that I don’t let my emotions just take me,” he had said to her. “If I gave in now, let myself feel anger, betrayal, hurt, what purpose would it serve? What’s done is done. The fact is you did what you felt you had to do. I may not be thrilled by it. I may have been the victim of it. But I can respect your decision. So you see, Betty, that aspect of me, which you felt was detrimental to our relationship, makes it that much easier to get past being shot with a tranq gun and carted away. Double-edged sword and all that, I suppose.”

“So, we’re okay?” she had said.

“Betty,” and he had actually laughed, but it had an ironic sound to it, “when were we ever okay?”

He had seen her flinch a bit from that, but it was the truth and she had known it.

Now they were walking through one of the deserted, ramshackle streets. At a not-too-discreet distance, troops armed with various high-tech containment weapons and lightweight attack vehicles moved slowly behind them. Bruce got a mental picture of what they must look like viewed from overhead. Just a guy, a girl, and the troops. The ludicrousness of the situation caused him to laugh again, this time to himself.

“It used to be so full of life here,” Betty said from beside him. Then she noticed he was laughing, and obviously couldn’t quite understand what was so funny about her last statement. “What?” asked Betty.

“Nothing,” he said, gesturing toward the troops shadowing them. “Just what do you think those boys would do if I leaned over and gave you a kiss?”

“I’m not sure either of us would survive,” said Betty smiling.

They stopped, faces close, but Bruce hesitated and then pulled back. Betty looked slightly disappointed,