*Events in this issue take place before Hulk Spectrum.

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The thin bespectacled gentleman hardly raised an eyebrow as he entered the diner side of the Superior Restaurant, located just outside of Allentown, Pennsylvania. The gaunt old man with thick glasses sitting in the back corner looked up for a few seconds, but soon returned his attention to the plate of runny eggs in front of him. The three well built teenage boys, fresh from a night of beer bongs and sordid, somewhat consensual, sexual encounters, looked up from their pie and had a good laugh at the expense of the man’s attire. It was probably the man’s purple pants, ratty sneakers, blue mock turtle neck and black Members Only jacket that set them off, but they quickly returned to their desert and boasting over the evening’s exploits. It didn’t matter either way. The man simply ignored them and waited patiently to be seated.

The waitress on duty that night, a heavy-set woman with bright, frizzed out red hair and no chin to speak of finally noticed the man and tried to lead him to a booth near the Future Frat Boys of America, but the man calmly explained that he would prefer a measure of privacy. The waitress, whose name was June, rolled her eyes, which drew attention to the large brown mole over her right eyebrow and led him through the closed restaurant portion of the Superior.

The two entered the smoking section, which was actually more of a bar than a restaurant. The room was lined with booths around the three main walls with the back wall left bare except for the entrance to the kitchen and doors leading to the men’s and women’s restrooms. The lighting of the room was dim and had dark wood paneling on the wall opposite the restaurant portion and tinted windows on the front and side walls. The booths were large and had black leather padded seats and a rich brown table set with silverware folded into light brown napkins...

The highlight of the section was the small bar situated in the middle of the room, which had a collection of locals busy drowning their sorrows and explaining to each other how they could have been somebody if it wasn’t for the fact that they got their wives pregnant in high school. At first the man was upset that he was being led into the smoking section since his opinion of cigarette smoke ranked right up there with his opinion of self-immolation, but there were fans spinning above the booths so the smoke was kept hovering around the bar like it was one of the boys. The noxious fumes weren’t overwhelming either, so the man said nothing and followed June to wherever she would lead him.

Three of the patrons seated towards the back of the bar noticed the man. One was a skinny, balding man wearing a faded Iron Maiden T-shirt and jeans with gaping holes at the knees, the second was a dark haired, extremely heavy man who appeared to be stuffed into a dark brown suit and the third, and the loudest of the crew had unkempt brown hair, a rat like nose, thin narrow eyes and wore a post office uniform with the name Cliff embroidered on his shirt. Cliff was the first to speak making several disparaging comments regarding the man’s wardrobe and the others joined in. When the man ignored them, took his seat and began to study the menu, Cliff and his crew grew angry, but soon gave up when another of the barflies made the comment that the Flyers weren’t looking too good that year.

“Toni will be with you in a moment,” June told the man as she pointed to the bartender, a short, busty woman with bright eyes and long brown hair who looked out of place amongst her customers. The man nodded and returned his attention to the menu. June rolled her eyes again and waddled back to the diner.

The next man to enter the Superior drew more attention. The sound of forks dropping onto plates and tables joined the chorus of conversation dying out when he walked in and it was hard to blame them. The man stood well over six foot four with a ruggedly handsome face. A thin pair of wire frame glasses gave him a studious appearance and drew attention to his piercing green eyes. He didn’t so much wear the black T-shirt as it seemed stretched across his broad shoulders and barrel chest. His massive hands were tucked into a pair of khaki trousers and a size fifteen triple E designer boot tapped on the floor.

Oddly enough it wasn’t the man’s size that attracted the attention. It was actually his hair that drew stares. It was long and thick and pulled back into a ponytail.

It was also green.

Not the bright, fluorescent green that Daddy’s little girl dyes her hair when she goes through her rebellious phase. This color did not come out of a box of gelatin and Clairol did not offer it in their line of fine hair dyes. It was a rich, dark green that, oddly enough, matched the color of his eyes.

If the man noticed the attention he didn’t show it. He whistled along to the muzak version of ‘If I Were a Rich Man’ and made a close study of the spinner rack of roadmaps beside the cigarette machine. June was finally able to compose herself and finally worked up the nerve to approach him. “Can I help you?” she asked with a mix of astonishment and fear, as if she expected him to suddenly turn and try to eat her.

“I hope so,” he replied, his voice deep but polite. “I was supposed to meet a friend of mine here. He’s about five foot eight, on the thin side and possibly wearing glasses.”

It took a moment, but the question finally got passed the part of June’s brain that was fixated on his physique. “Yeah,” she stammered. “He’s in the bar, right through there.”

The man looked to where June was pointing and flashed a warm smile. “Thank you. You have been very helpful.”

“Do you need me to show you?” June asked as she watched the man walk towards the bar.

“No,” he replied, his voice echoing through the empty room. “But thanks anyway.”

The man entered the bar and immediately scanned the room for his friend. His presence went unnoticed and he finally spotted his party sitting at a back corner booth. He walked towards the booth and that was when the barflies finally realized he was there. Like the people in the diner they stared and he walked but kept their comments and thoughts to themselves before returning their attention to the conversation and booze.

Only Cliff made any comments. “Nice hair, Princess,” he said as the man walked by him. The other two had a good laugh over this and high fives were exchanged.

The man stopped and slowly turned his head and gave them a look. It was a very specific look, emphasized by the man turning around and standing a little straighter to make his shoulders appear broader. The look said something and that was, ‘Stop or I will drag you outside, stomp a hole in you and walk it dry.’

Cliff and his friends suddenly found something else to occupy themselves. Satisfied, the man walked to the booth. “Hello, Bruce,” he said.

The smaller man looked up. “Hello, Leonard,” he said flatly.

“I see you’re still trying to bring purple pants into fashion.”

Bruce Banner sighed. “It’s better than the casual day at the university look you have.” Bruce craned his neck to look past Leonard and saw that some of the barflies were staring. “You might want to sit down. You’re attracting attention.”

Leonard ‘Doc’ Samson slid into the booth and made a silent prayer of thanks that it was wide enough to accommodate his size. Toni brought a tray with two plates of food to the table as Leonard got settled and set them down in front of Bruce. Leonard was surprised at the contents of the plate. One had two cheeseburgers and thin potato chips while the second was a piece of apple pie coated with butter. Toni also set down the glass of water and cup of coffee as Bruce began to devour the first cheeseburger. He barely grunted when she asked him if he needed anything else.

“So what can I get you?” she asked Leonard, smiling coyly.

“I’ll take a cup of coffee and the key lime pie I saw in front.”

She wrote the order. “Cup of coffee and a slice of key lime pie. Got it.”

“No,” Leonard corrected. “I want the whole pie.”

Toni stared for a moment and then gave a coy smile. “I guess a guy your size could polish it off no problem.”

Leonard laughed. “I have a man sized appetite tonight, just like my friend here.”

Toni laughed and walked off to fetch his order. Leonard watched a few moments in utter amazement as Bruce polished off the first burger and went right into the second. “I thought you were a vegetarian.”

Bruce swallowed. “I have to eat a balanced diet, including a lot of protein to keep up with the amount of calories I burn walking all over creation.”

“Actually you could just tell people you’re eating for two,” Leonard quipped. “Or three in your case.”

Bruce glared. “Not funny.”

Leonard suppressed a laugh at Bruce’s expression. “I apologize.”

Bruce continued to stuff food in his face. The second burger went quickly with the chips going down next. Bruce ate like a man possessed and reminded Leonard of the homeless people he had served food to during his volunteer days at St. Ann’s Mission when he was in college. As Bruce dug into the pie Leonard realized that he was staring and Bruce must have too. “I would appreciate if you would stop studying me like I am some kind of lab animal, Leonard,” he said, never taking his eyes off the plate. “I’m just a man who is extremely hungry and the food here is better than anything I’ve had in the past week.”

“Sorry,” Leonard said, snapping himself out of the therapist mode he had become trapped in. “I’ve just never seen you eat like this, at least in that body at any rate.”

“Things change,” Bruce replied, finally looking Leonard in the eyes. “People change.”

Leonard let the statement go and gave another look around the bar. “So why did you choose this place?” he asked. “It seems a bit public for you.”

“Remember back when I was seemingly cured by Amos Trotter and teaching at Templar University in Bethlehem?” Bruce asked.

It was a silly question. There was no way he could have possibly forgotten that period of time. It was back when Bruce was in his ‘merged’ form with the body of the savage, green Hulk and the personality of Bruce Banner. Bruce and his wife Betty were on the run after spending some time with a group known as the Pantheon and moved from town to town trying to evade every known authority from the United States Army to the Strategic Hazard Intervention Espionage and Logistics Directorate. Leonard was contacted by a man claiming to be Dr. Amos Trotter, a noted expert in the treatment of mental illness, who offered a way to cure Bruce Banner once and for all. Surprisingly Bruce agreed to the procedure, mostly due to the fact that Betty had come up pregnant and Bruce wanted to offer her something other than a fugitive’s existence.

The plan worked or at least it seemed to. Bruce reverted back to his human form and Leonard set him and Betty up at Templar University in Bethlehem, PA so they could finally have the normal life they so desperately wanted. Things seemed fine until Betty went into premature labor and gave birth to conjoined twins who were on the brink of death. Bruce raced to get a device that he believed could cure his children, but a rogue member of the army, a man named Talbot, intervened and Bruce once again transformed into his merged form. After taking care of Talbot, Bruce was able to get back to the hospital with his gamma device. One of twins had died, but he was able to save the other, who Betty had named Brett.

Then things really fell apart.

While still at the hospital Amos Trotter arrived and revealed that he was not the noted psychiatrist, but really the Maestro, a future version of Bruce. He grabbed Brett and disappeared back to his own time. Bruce followed him and eventually located Brett, but found that twenty years had passed and his son had grown into a man raised by the Maestro. At first Brett rejected Bruce and his story but eventually Brett sacrificed his own life to save his true father and Bruce was forced to return to his own time to face his wife without their son.

Leonard always blamed himself for the experience, but never articulated this to Bruce. He didn’t feel the need to unburden himself now and simply nodded in reply to Bruce’s question.

“Betty and I used to come here for breakfast and sometimes a late cup of coffee,” Bruce explained with a sad kind of smile. “She loved the diner upfront. She said it reminded her of the diners she would hang out at with her friends when she was in boarding school. I happened to be passing by on my way north, so this seemed like a good a place as any to meet you.”

“Aren’t you afraid that someone might recognize you?” Samson asked.

Bruce sipped his water and shook his head. “I had buzzed, red hair with thick plastic framed glasses. I doubt anyone would recognize me like this.”

Leonard laughed. “I always thought you looked like an extra from Revenge of the Nerds.”

“Betty’s idea,” Bruce said. “She had a thing about keeping a low profile and changing appearances.”

Before Leonard could go on, Toni walked up with his pie and coffee. After the typical waitress questions and a not so subtle hint towards Leonard about what time it would be when she got off work, Leonard dug into his pie as Bruce sipped his coffee. The silence spoke volumes and while the two were comfortable with each other company, there was a hint of tension about what they weren’t saying to each other.

“So,” Leonard said to break the silence, “how have you been since …”

“Since I almost killed the Abomination?” Bruce asked, finishing Leonard’s question.

“Well since you want to be so forward with it; yes. How are you since you had your battle with the Abomination?”

“You’d think I would feel better since I gained some sort of vengeance on the man who killed my wife,” Bruce replied. “But as much closure as it brought, it also made me feel empty and more alone than ever.”

“That’s understandable,” Leonard informed him. “You found what you were looking for and now there is that feeling of, ‘What do I do now?’“

“That’s part of it,” Bruce agreed. “I guess it doesn’t help that I’m playing fugitive either.”

Samson nodded. “I’ll agree with that.”

“But there’s something else,” Bruce continued. “Something darker. I feel like I’ve lost some control over the transformations.”

“More so than before?” Samson asked.

“Yes. Things seem to be getting worse instead of better.”

Samson moved his empty plate to the side and focused all of his attention of Bruce. “That’s also understandable. After surviving your bout with Amyotrophic Lateral Sclerosis, it makes sense that your mind and body would be out of balance.”

“This isn’t a car that needs a tune-up, Leonard,” Bruce said. “Even though I don’t remember much about that period of time, I still remember the fact that the personalities were ‘getting along’ so to speak. The transformations are now completely out of my control and, depending on the situation, a different Hulk will come out.”

“Which of your alters have manifested themselves?” Leonard asked.

“Joe comes out when the situation is relatively low key,” Bruce began, referring to Joe Fixit, the gray skinned Hulk. “He’s been out the most, actually, and it doesn’t matter what time of day either, though I’ve noticed that I can exert some control during the day. The Hulk comes out when the situation is dire, like the time the Absorbing Man came through the town I was working in. In either case I change and have very little memory of what took place after my metamorphosis.”

“It seems your Multiple Personality Disorder has regressed,” Leonard said with an oddly cold, almost clinical tone. “Again this makes sense. With what you’ve been through a set-back isn’t just believable, but somewhat inevitable as well. What about the ‘Professor’ alter?”

Bruce’s brow furrowed at the question. “What are you talking about?”

“‘The Professor’,” Samson repeated. “That was the name of the personality that manifested when I thought I had successfully merged your alters.”

“But you were successful, at least for a time,” Bruce said, looking at the table as if it held all the answers. “I remember that time period clearly and not as shared memories with Joe or the small bits I retain when I’m the Hulk.”

Leonard was genuinely surprised at this revelation, sure that the Professor was just another alter. “Are you sure?”

“Yes,” Bruce replied, his voice cracking slightly before his face fell in disillusionment. “Great. Now I have personalities that I don’t even remember.”

“It’s okay, Bruce,” Leonard told him in the most reassuring voice he could muster. “We can work through this. Actually this fits nicely with why I asked to meet with you.”

“I’m so glad my mental imbalance goes along with your plans,” Bruce said caustically.

Leonard realized immediately that once again he had gotten wrapped up in his own agenda without regard to how it might affect his patient. “I realize that may have been the wrong way to put it,” he explained and when Bruce simply nodded Leonard felt that it was safe to proceed. “I only meant that what you just told me is one of the reasons I asked to meet with you.”

“I was wondering about that,” Bruce told him.

Leonard was silent for a moment while he collected his thoughts. Bruce had seen this behavior before; usually when Leonard had something to ask or tell him that wasn’t going to be pleasant. It was the same look Leonard had when he first brought up merging Bruce’s personality and even though he couldn’t see his face since the two were speaking on the phone, he knew Leonard had it when he brought up the supposed Trotter’s idea. Bruce waited patiently until Leonard sighed and finally spoke when he realized there was no better way to put it and that he had run out of time.

“Bruce, I need you to remain calm when I tell you this,” he began.

Bruce rolled his eyes and sighed heavily. “Oh, this is going to be great. I can tell already.”

“Bruce, a contact I have within the government has made an offer to you.”

“Oh,” Bruce said with a mocking tone. “The government. I have every reason to trust them.”

“I’m serious,” Leonard continued, ignoring Bruce’s sarcasm. “This contact has never steered me wrong. He informed me that the Strategic Hazard Intervention Espionage and Logistics Directorate has separated from the United Nations and come under the authority of the Attorney General and the Department of Defense.”

“S.H.I.E.L.D. is working for Uncle Sam?” Bruce asked. “This isn’t exactly making me feel better.”

“Both the Attorney General and the Secretary of Defense feel that S.H.I.E.L.D. could be useful in the war on terror and the organization has been completely restructured with Dum Dum Dugan and Sharon Carter serving as Co-Directors. They are in the process of recruiting the best and brightest in the country to fight terror both here and abroad.”

“You sound like a recruitment video, Leonard.”

For the first time Leonard appeared annoyed. “Bruce, I need to get through this. Your commentary isn’t helping.”

That’s when Bruce saw another familiar look, one that said, ‘I don’t care if you are potentially the most dangerous man who has ever, lived if you don’t shut your mouth I will happily shut it for you.’ Bruce apologized and asked for him to continue, sensing that Leonard really believed in what he was talking about.

“S.H.I.E.L.D. feels that instead of investing their time and energy in hunting you down that it would be better to have you working for them.”

“Excuse me?” Bruce asked in amazement.

“From the current administration’s perspective, there are bigger threats to the United States than the Incredible Hulk. The way they have it figured is if the Hulk and Bruce Banner are working for them, they can do their job more effectively and at the same time know where you are and what you are doing.”

“Okay, suppose for a minute that I entertain this notion,” Bruce began. “I can only guess what they have in mind for the Hulk as he is probably the most dangerous weapon of mass destruction the world has ever seen. Why do they want me?”

“Do you really need to ask that?” Leonard replied. “Bruce, you invented the gamma bomb, a device designed to destroy tanks and building but leave soldiers relatively unharmed. Not to inflate your ego, but you are probably one of the top five most brilliant men on the planet, with maybe Reed Richards inches ahead of you. They feel they need that kind of brain power right now.”

“It never entered their minds that I can’t control the Hulk, or Joe for that matter?”

Leonard smiled. “Actually it did. They realize that all you want is to cure yourself. For once they are sympathetic to this notion and figure that in between missions, so to speak, you can use their resources to rid yourself and them of the Hulk and whatever other personalities you have knocking around that head of yours. They even offered me a position as special advisor to continue your therapy.”

Bruce’s face furrowed in thought. “I don’t know,” he said. “This seems a little too easy. How can I go on these supposed missions where the Hulk might be let loose on the world? How will they control him if he goes berserk?”

“How is this different from when you were with the Pantheon?” Leonard asked.

The question took Bruce by surprise, mostly because he was right. The Pantheon was a commune of sorts where scientists and researchers worked free from government control in an effort to make the world a better place. It also boasted a powerful army that Bruce had led into battle on more than one occasion. “That was different,” Bruce said.

“How?”

“Because I believed in that cause,” Bruce replied. “I don’t know if I believe in this one. How can I trust a government that has harassed and attacked me at every opportunity? This isn’t the first time I have been asked to work for them. The last time Betty died. There are too many questions and not enough answers.”

“I realize it is a lot to take in,” Leonard agreed. “And I realize that it does have a ‘too good to be true’ quality about it. But I have reason to trust my source on this one.”

“Care to let me know who this source is?” Bruce asked.

“General Ross,” Leonard replied without hesitation.

When Leonard said the name Bruce didn’t roll his eyes. He didn’t sigh. He didn’t scream. He just laughed. “You have got to be kidding me. General ‘Thunderbolt’ Ross? The father of my late wife who has done his best to destroy me when he wasn’t trying to shoot me or supposedly dying and ending up a pawn of the Leader or playing on my emotions to accomplish his ends. That General Ross?”

“Yes,” Leonard told him. “That Ross.”

“Why should I trust Ross? Like I said, the last time I trusted him with an offer to work with the military, Betty died. After that he used me to seek vengeance on the man responsible.”

Leonard gave Bruce a knowing look. “And you didn’t want revenge on the Abomination?”

Bruce glared, once again confronted with the fact that Leonard was right. “Okay. I’ll give you that. But I don’t know if I trust Ross’ intentions.”

“I’m not asking you to trust Ross. I’m asking you to trust me.”

Bruce opened his mouth but then closed it again when he realized that he had nothing further to say. He had random, scattershot emotions, but nothing he could articulate. “I need to use the restroom,” he said softly. “I’ll be right back.”

“Take your time,” Leonard told him, and from his tone Bruce could tell that he meant to take his time about more than using the facilities.

Bruce walked to the restroom, passing the bar as he went. Cliff and his buddies noticed him and the man in the Iron Maiden T-shirt took a long drag off his cigarette and exhaled the smoke so that it caught Bruce in the face as he passed by. Bruce stopped and began hacking and through watering eyes glared at the man.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” the man said in a mocking tone. “My mistake.”

“Woody,” Cliff cautioned in the same tone. “That wasn’t very nice. Was that a nice thing to do, Norm?”

The fat man next to Cliff chuckled, causing his various chins to shake violently. “Not polite at all,” he said.

Bruce regained his composure and continued his way to the restroom. He had wondered if Leonard had noticed the incident and secretly hoped that he hadn’t since the last thing he needed was to be defended by the man he was angry with. Cliff, Norm and Woody seemed disappointed by Bruce’s lack of a reaction and Bruce heard them loudly discussing this amongst themselves as he entered the bathroom.

For a diner restroom it was rather spacious and clean. In front of him were two sinks with mirrors above them and a paper towel dispenser mounted on the wall to the right. To the left of the sinks was a small baby-changing table attached to the wall. To Bruce’s immediate left were two urinals, one lower to the ground than the other and two stalls, one larger than the other to bring the building up to handicapped accessible code. Between the two urinals was a vending machine that contained two types of headache medicine and three types of temporary tattoos. It was clean but still had the smell of bleached urine that most public men’s rest rooms have.

After washing his hands and face, Bruce realized once again that anger was just what he felt towards Leonard. Over the years, Bruce had considered Leonard Samson a therapist, but more than that a friend. More than once Leonard had stuck his neck way out to help Bruce and while Bruce appreciated it he also resented it a little since in his own way Bruce had wanted to solve his problems on his own. Leonard had come into his life with an offer to help and Bruce couldn’t see a way to refuse. This made him angry, resentful and a little bitter, but at the same time he couldn’t shake the feeling that Leonard may have come at just the right time.

The last six months had been very rough on Bruce. After his fight with the Abomination he had wandered from town to town, taking odd jobs and trying to find a life for himself. Every single time he found a small town to call home something would happen; sometimes he would get involved in a family that was in need or become caught up in some scandal or scheme with a new friend he had made. Then there were the times when the locals decided they didn’t want a stranger in town. No matter what happened, something would cause Bruce to change into the Hulk or Joe Fixit and he would have to start all over again.

Even after years of living that way the past six months of a lonely, bitter existence made Bruce begin to wonder if he could take it any longer.

Suddenly Leonard’s offer became more attractive. Maybe it would offer him the chance to finally cure himself and find a life that didn’t mean running or being afraid of what would happen if the raging fury that dwelled within him would be unleashed. S.H.I.E.L.D. certainly had the resources he would need and maybe by working on something positive, like helping people and preventing any further terrorist attacks, he could make up for the sins of the past.

Then it happened. The little voice in Bruce’s head began talking. It was rough and course, like sandpaper being run over granite. It told him he couldn’t trust Leonard or S.H.I.E.L.D. S.H.I.E.L.D. had hunted him before. This could be a trap. Leonard may have tried to help in the past, but it always ended in disaster. It told him he couldn’t trust any government agency since they always tried to hurt him.

Then the voice changed and become deeper, less intelligent. It simply cried out for him to escape, to destroy, to smash. Bruce grabbed his head with both hands and tried to remain calm, thinking only calm thoughts. He managed to push the voices away and finally breathed a sigh of relief when he felt he was successful. He smiled and opened his eyes.

And then immediately wished he hadn’t done so.

Standing between him and the door were Cliff, Norm and Woody. They stared at Bruce for a moment before Cliff finally spoke. “Feeling okay, pal?”

The hairs on the back of Bruce’s neck stood straight up and his heart began to pound. His fight or flight instinct was in overdrive and he wanted nothing more than to get out of the restroom without something catastrophic happening.

“Yes,” Bruce said evenly. “I’m fine.”

“We were just curious,” Cliff said as Norm and Woody moved to flank Bruce. “We saw you coughing out there and wanted to make sure that nothing was wrong with you.”

“I’m fine,” Bruce repeated, his voice wavering slightly. “I just want to go back to my table.”

“Want to get back to your buddy out there?” Woody asked.

“Look, I don’t want any trouble.”

Bruce regretted the words almost as soon as he said them. He had been in enough small towns and bars to know that those words never did him any good. The three men before him seemed to draw strength from it and closed in. Bruce took two steps back before reaching the sink and stopped, realizing there was nowhere else to go. Cliff stayed in the middle as Norm flanked him on the right and Woody on the left.

“We don’t like you,” Cliff said, his breath stinking of beer.

“Like I said,” Bruce told them, “I don’t want any trouble. You guys have been drinking and probably don’t realize what you’re doing.”

“Oh, we know. We just don’t care,” Norm informed him before grabbing at Bruce’s glasses. He took them with ease and put them on, immediately stumbling at the strength of the prescription. “Man, this guy is blind.”

“I don’t want any …” Bruce began to say, but Cliff interrupted him with a firm punch to the stomach. Bruce almost lost his balance as the breath left his body, but managed to grab the sink. His grip was not a strong one and when Cliff hit him across the jaw, he fell to ground, hitting his head on the porcelain as he went down.

Despite the throbbing, Bruce tried to remain calm as he watched them laugh at his pain while Norm dropped his glasses and ground the plastic lenses into the floor. “Why?” he asked as the blood from his lip trickled down his face,

“Why not?” Cliff asked as he gestured to his friends to pick Bruce up. Norm and Cliff each grabbed an arm and hoisted Bruce off the floor as Cliff began to rant.

Bruce tried to maintain an even a voice as he could muster. “Look, it isn’t too late. You can walk away before something terrible happens.”

This seemed to make Cliff and his friends angrier. With no way to defend himself, Bruce could do nothing when Cliff hit him again and again, the pain becoming more intense. “And don’t think that your buddy is going to help,” Norm whispered in his ear. “We got Toni to distract him.”

Norm and Woody suddenly threw Bruce towards the back of the restroom. He hit the ground hard and before he could scramble to his feet they were on him, kicking him in the chest, stomach and face. They spoke to him as they beat him, but all Bruce could make out was something about how this was a nice town and that his type didn’t belong there.

Bruce tried to block it out. It didn’t matter why they were beating him, though Bruce realized that most of the problem had to do with the fact that Leonard had stared them down and this was their way of saving face. His concerns were larger. He tried to put himself in another place, to ignore what was being done to him just as he did when he was a child and his father beat and abused him. Sometimes it worked.

Then again, it was hard to concentrate when a steel-toed work boot shattered three of Bruce’s ribs and the faded loafers Norm wore broke his nose.

With what was left of his strength Bruce broke free and crawled into the handicapped stall. Cliff followed and grabbed him by the back of his neck. “Need to use the can?” he asked. “Allow me.”

Cliff dunked Bruce’s head into the toilet. Clean as the restroom was, the toilet was still filthy and Bruce fought the urge to vomit as he struggled to breathe. Cliff brought his head up and Bruce gasped as he heard his attackers laugh. Suddenly his head went back into the toilet and he inhaled some water as Cliff held his head under longer than the last time before bringing his head up and repeating the action.

Bruce tried to fight it. He tried to keep his anger in check. He tried to ignore the pain and the humiliation. He tried to keep the raging fury that dwelled within him from coming out.

When Cliff brought him up the third time he knew that he was going to fail. He opened his eyes and instead of his usual brown they were a greenish gray.

Cliff dropped Bruce and left the stall, shutting the door as he did. Leading Norm and Woody over to the sink, Cliff laughed as he washed his hands. “Little punk,” he said.

Woody let out a hyena type laugh. “Yeah, little punk,” he repeated.

“You think we hurt him too bad?” Norm asked.

Cliff scoffed at the idea. “Naw, he’ll heal. He may limp for a while but he’ll get over it.”

They all shared a laugh over this, but a strange noise coming from the stall drew their attention. Actually a combination of noises caught their ear as the sound of grunting mixed with that of tearing cloth. Popping sounds joined them and a thumping on the wall inside the stall grew heavier and more insistent. Finally there was nothing; a quiet that descended on the bathroom to the point where the only noise audible was the beating of their own hearts in their ears.

Suddenly the silence broke.

“Aw, damn it!” the deep, rough voice shouted from the stall. “I hate this! Every time I go to use the crapper some inconsiderate jackass decides to use all of the toilet paper before I get there!”

The door of the stall flew off its hinges and hit the wall with a loud clang. Following the door was a man or something that was shaped like a man. He was tall, almost seven feet tall with a muscular frame that defied human physiology. His chest was massive, twice as large as Leonard Samson’s, with arms and legs that appeared sculpted. His eyes were almost black as was his hair that sat on his head in a disheveled state. A tattered pair of purple slacks was all that separated the ‘man’ and the laws concerning decency in the community.

Cliff, Norm and Woody all had the same thought and couldn’t decide what scared them the most. Was it the fact that the ‘man’ before them was so large? Was it that his skin wasn’t white or black, but a dull gray? Without saying a word they agreed that while those things fed their fear it wasn’t either of those choices that made them want to scream like little girls.

It was the fact that the ‘man’ was smiling.

“So,” the gray man asked. “Which one of you wastes of space wants to be the first to slam dance with the first born son of God?”

“Wha …?” Cliff began to say, but the words froze in his mouth before he could finish. “What…?” he tried again.

“Spit it out, little man,” the gray man asked. “I ain’t got all night.”

“What are you?” came out of Cliff’s mouth as whisper.

“Not what, dingle berry, who,” the man replied. “My name’s Joe. Joe Fixit. But you can call me the worst ass kicking you will ever receive.”

The three men reacted differently as they watched Joe crack his knuckles, which echoed in the bathroom and sounded more like gunfire than joints popping. Norm fainted dead away and hit his head on the sink with a satisfying thud. Woody ran for the door and managed to get it open after three tries.

Cliff on the other hand had a different reaction. He wet himself, which amused Joe to no end.

“Oh, that is freaking perfect,” Joe laughed. “That’s wonderful. Not only are you about to get a good, old fashioned, red ass beat down, but you’re going to get it after making on yourself. What, you need to use a toilet? Here, have this one!”

In one graceful movement Joe reached into the stall, ripped the toilet out of the floor and threw the tank at Cliff. On pure instinct, Cliff dropped to the floor as the tank flew over head and crashed through the wall. The broken remains came to a rest on the floor of the bar as Cliff began to sob.

A few minutes before, Leonard found himself sitting alone, pondering how his pitch had gone. He wasn’t sure how to read Bruce’s reaction and hoped they could continue their conversation when he got back from the rest room. Even though he had his own doubts about S.H.I.E.L.D.’s offer, he felt that this was the best way to deal with Bruce’s therapy. An odd sense of guilt overcame him and he suddenly began to doubt his own actions, realizing that with all that Bruce had been through maybe it was unfair to dangle another solution in front of him.

But that wasn’t it and Leonard knew it. The real reason he brought the offer was he felt guilty that of all the people he had helped over the years he couldn’t effectively treat the one man he really wanted to. If Leonard were truly honest with himself he would admit that ego played a part in it, like it played a part in his own self-inflicted exposure to gamma radiation, a procedure he performed to draw the attention of Betty Ross. He always held himself to a high standard and the fact that he couldn’t do this one thing gnawed at him. Part of it was that Bruce was his friend, but the other part was his own damn self-image.

“Hey there,” a lilting voice asked.

Leonard snapped out of his funk and looked up to see Toni watching him. “Excuse me,” he said politely. “Hello.”

“Lost in thought?”

Leonard smiled. “A bit,” he replied. “I have a lot on my mind.”

Toni smiled warmly and Leonard noticed for the first time how attractive she was. Even though he was involved with a doctor named Angela Lipscomb he felt that familiar tug when he looked at her. “Sounds rough,” she said as she slid into the seat in front of him. “Need someone to talk to?”

“I’m afraid it’s a bit complicated.”

“Really?” she asked. “Try me.”

At that moment Leonard realized that as nice as the attention was it had been awhile since Bruce left. He looked over to the bar and saw that the three yahoos who had tried to start something with him weren’t there. “Excuse me,” Leonard told her as he rose out of his seat. “I think my friend may need me.”

Toni grabbed his arm. “I think he’ll be okay. Have a seat so we can talk.”

Leonard glanced down at her and saw the somewhat maniacal expression of her face. Alarms started clanging in his head as a sickening realization dawned on him. “The three men at the bar,” he began. “Where are they?”

“What, Cliff and his buddies?” she replied, grip still firmly on his arm. “They must have left.”

Leonard sighed, knowing for sure that she was lying. “I’m going.”

“You can’t,” she said. “We were just getting acquainted.”

“What did they promise you?” he asked his voice low and dangerous.

Toni released her grip and sat in the booth looking like a child who had finally been caught in a lie they couldn’t back up. “Twenty bucks apiece if I distracted you so they could scare the little guy.”

Leonard fumed. He couldn’t articulate his rage and walked towards the rest room with the full intention of stopping things before they went too far. As Woody bolted from the rest room and the shattered remains of the toilet settled on the ground, Leonard realized he wasn’t going to make it.

Through the gaping hole in the wall he saw Joe Fixit standing above the terrified form of Cliff. Joe reached down and grabbed Cliff one-handed and threw him through the hole he had created. Cliff hit the ground hard, grunted and fell unconscious.

“Damn it,” Joe said. “Every time I find a new playmate they get all soft on me.”

Leonard rushed Joe and landed a solid blow to the gray man’s chin as the rest of the patrons ran for the door. Joe was surprised, but didn’t move. “What the hell did you do that for?” he asked.

As the last patron escaped, Leonard and Joe stood toe-to-toe eyeing each other. “I’m not going to let you hurt these men, Joe,” Leonard informed the behemoth.

“Oh, and you’re going to stop me?” Joe asked. “Please. Every time we dance you end up getting the short end of the stick and I end up picking green hair off of my hide for weeks. You shed like yard dog, Samson.”

“I don’t care,” Leonard said, holding his ground. “You need to leave now or the cops will be here while you’re busy fighting me. Cops mean press and I thought you were trying to keep a low profile.”

“The wimp is trying to keep a low profile,” Joe informed him, referring to Bruce. “He wants to make sure that the idiot and I don’t attract too much attention. Me? I don’t give a rat’s behind one way or the other.”

Leonard realized that a physical confrontation wasn’t going to solve anything. It dawned on him that he might want to try a different track. “Fine. Don’t leave, but answer me one question. Did you hear anything I told Bruce?”

“Every word,” Joe replied. “Baby Huey and I have a front row seat for most of what happens to the wimp, though he doesn’t seem to know that.”

“What do you think?”

Joe laughed darkly. “What do I think? I think this is another half-ass attempt to get rid of me!”

“You realize that it might be a way for you to have a life.”

“I had a life!” Joe shouted. “I had a great job in Vegas, a pretty girl and all the shrimp I could handle, which is a lot by the way. Then the wimp reared his ugly head and you followed. You decided to play with my head like an Etch-A-Sketch and suddenly I don’t remember anything until the wimp got that baseball disease. Now I’m back and I’m not pulling a disappearing act again.”

“Do you like being on the run?” Leonard asked calmly.

“It’s better than working with the idiots in blue,” Joe told him.

“Joe, I’m going to be very honest with you. There was a catch to the offer they made to Bruce. If he doesn’t agree to their terms they will make him the most hunted man on the planet. They will use the full powers of every law enforcement agency in the country and probably the world to kill him. They won’t give him a chance to change. It will be a sniper from a distance with a bullet aimed at Bruce’s head. So now the question is how do you want this to play out; working with S.H.I.E.L.D. and using your boundless rage for relatively constructive purposes or wind up on slab? The choice is yours.”

Joe was silent for a moment before muttering, “I gotta think about this.”

“Fine,” Leonard said. “You have a week. Bruce mentioned that he was heading north to look into something. Seven days from now I will come to you and ask for your answer. Until then dwell all you like, but remember, S.H.I.E.L.D.’s budget is nearly infinite. They have spared no expense to design weapons that can take out even you. Do you really want to chance it?

Joe stared at Leonard, surprised at the shrink’s sudden change in tone. Ordinarily he would take another poke at Leonard, but knew deep down that it would only cause him more grief in the long run. Joe Fixit was a man who knew how to pick his battles. “Okay,” he said. “A week. That should be enough time to figure things out. I’m out of here.”

The sound of approaching sirens distracted both of them. “What are you going to do about the cops?” Joe asked.

“I’ll think of something.”

Joe smiled. “You can always say I hit you.”

“I’m going to have a hard enough time trying to explain why I’m here without lying to them about fighting you.”

“Why lie?” Joe asked and slugged Leonard. His fist hit Leonard’s jaw and the psychiatrist landed hard on the floor. Joe shook his hand from the pain, but that quickly faded as he realized that he managed to hit Leonard like he wanted to and not start a cataclysmic brawl. Looking down on Leonard he realized that most of what the green-haired freak had said was right. He couldn’t go on running forever and someday the army or whoever was going to get lucky and take him out. Maybe working with S.H.I.E.L.D. may prevent that.

Or it may be a trap. Either way he was going to have to think about it.

Walking into the diner portion, Joe Fixit found the only person left in the building that was conscious, which was June. June stood completely still as if her next move could be her last. Joe walked over to the counter and grabbed the small glass case that held slices of pie, cake and other desserts. “You mind if I take this?” he asked. June shook her head and finally managed to give out a high pitch no. “You call the cops?” he asked. June nodded uncertainly. “Oh well,” Joe said. “Guess I can’t blame you. I would have done the same. Just don’t tell anyone I was here or I’ll kill you.”

“Okay,” she gulped.

With a nod Joe walked out of the diner and into the cold night. He listened for a moment and then found the opposite direction that the cops were coming from. With all his strength he covered miles in seconds until he was finally out of town. Sitting down to eat, he wondered if maybe this life wasn’t the perfect one that he was searching for. Maybe S.H.I.E.L.D. could help.

In either case, Joe knew he had a week to decide and in that week he was going to travel to Viseria, Pennsylvania and investigate what the wimp wanted to. Joe bristled at the thought and couldn’t shake the nagging feeling that suddenly everything he had known had changed again and, as always, there was nothing he could about it.

Of course this was how it was for Joe Fixit; a seemingly endless road of hate and bitterness where the world was against him and there were no friends to be found. If he had been completely honest with himself, Joe would have admitted that it was the same way for Bruce Banner and the Hulk. Joe stood up, stared at the night’s sky and found north before slowly walking into the darkness towards his destination.

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The End...

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