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Chapter 123: Cuckolding the Hulk
“Ross, you motherfucker, you piece of shit…”
A string of curses burst from Tony’s mouth, going on for five minutes without repetition. Even from a great distance, Ross could feel the towering resentment.
“Hehehe, very good, very good. You have resentment in your heart? You feel dissatisfied? You’re very disappointed with this world?” When Tony paused for breath, Ross chuckled, speaking profoundly under the gaze of staff members with strange expressions.
When did the imposing General Ross become so good-tempered?
“You motherfucker…” Tony continued to curse, getting thirsty mid-rant. He casually grabbed a bottle of drink from a nearby store, drank it, and resumed his tirade.
Ross initially smiled, thinking, *Resentment is good, rage is good. He’s young, after all. Even with exceptional strength, he’s just a hot-blooded fellow. A little guidance and he can be brought to my side.* Ross waited patiently. He wanted to wait until Tony was tired of cursing before persuading him properly, turning the young man’s attention in other directions.
Gradually, his smile faded because Tony kept cursing. In just this short time, he had cursed Ross’s entire Ancestral Lineage. The old General’s face twitched, finding it hard to maintain his composure.
“Tony, think carefully, it was Hulk who caused all of this…”
“Ross, I’ll fuck your ancestors.”
“Tony, now only I can help you!”
“Ross, I’ll fuck your whole family.”
“Tony…”
“Ross, I’ll fuck your daughter. I’m going to put a cuckoldry hat on Hulk,” Tony said.
Hulk was already green enough; what difference would a little more green make?
Ross’s face completely darkened. Towering rage brewed in his heart, his imposing face flushed crimson, and veins bulged on his neck. He had worked his way up to the position of General; in decades, no one had ever insulted him like this, using such vulgar curses of a street thug. Everyone else engaged in scheming and maneuvering, a struggle of power and political intrigue. No one was like Tony.
Ross’s patience was slowly depleted, replaced by immense rage and malice. Tony had successfully ignited the old General’s fury with the most basic, common, and vulgar trash talk. He snorted. *These Metahumans, they think they can look down on everything just because they’ve gained some power. Not a single one of them is good.*
However, that last sentence did make him ponder for a moment – *that sounds like a good idea* – no, *Pah! What kind of demonic idea is that? How can I bow to a Metahuman?*
The numerous soldiers and the staff on the other end were dumbfounded. They put down what they were holding, hugging their knees and quietly listening to Tony’s barrage of curses, looking between Ross and Tony. Their gazes grew stranger, increasingly off.
For some reason, seeing the highly influential General Ross being cursed like a grandson gave them a strange sense of… satisfaction?
“Ross, where’s your daughter? I’ve decided, I’m going to sleep with her! Following Hulk has no future; following me is the true path.” Tony grumbled and cursed, then his tone shifted as he shamelessly asked Ross for his daughter’s geographical location.
His tone was as normal and flat as if he were discussing what to eat for dinner that night.
Ross, his face dark, turned off the equipment and fiercely slammed the screen-off button, sitting in the main seat, remaining silent. He finally understood: this Tony was just an idiot. Even if the guy achieved remarkable feats in Gotham City and unified the Gangs, it didn’t change his idiotic nature.
The other personnel dared not approach. The enraged General Ross might roar at them. But in their exchanged glances, a spark of excitement and stimulation seemed visible in each other’s eyes. A few who harbored resentment towards Ross felt immense delight.
Ross was known for his strict and harsh demeanor, which caused many to feel privately discontent.
He sat there, frowning tightly, his back to everyone, naturally unaware of their secret communication. He pondered for a very long time, his expression constantly changing, unpredictable. Occasionally, the personnel operating the equipment watched with palpitating fear. Could this notoriously Hawkish General be planning to kill Tony?
It was hard to say. Ross was a famous hardline and iron-fisted figure within the Military. He and Stryker were the most well-known ruthless men, each responsible for different directions of the Super-Soldier Program.
Ross stroked his beard, as if having made a difficult decision. He slowly turned around, somewhat hesitant, somewhat wavering. He called his adjutant and tentatively asked, “Where is Betty now?”
“Huh?” The adjutant was instantly dumbfounded.
…
More than a dozen soldiers looked at Tony with worshipful gazes. They had been in the confined Military Camp for a long time and weren't familiar with Tony’s situation, so they hadn't immediately recognized this recently prominent Metahuman. They had only vaguely heard about him in their conversations. Ross’s repeated use of “Tony” naturally made them suddenly enlightened, cold sweat trickling. It turned out that this strong individual before them was the Machinist.
Mechanic tony was high on the New York Police Department and local Military’s High-Risk Personnel List.
Privately, a saying quietly circulated: *Whoever the hell fights Tony in a high-tech city is insane.*
Someone who could curse Ross until he lost his temper was truly extraordinary.
“Huh, where’s that old dog Ross? Did he really die of a sudden heart attack from my cursing? A General with such shallow composure; he was clearly destined for an early death.” Tony patted the silent walkie-talkie, sneering, completely disregarding the fact that Ross was over fifty.
If he said he was destined for an early death, then he was destined for an early death. At worst, Tony would find a chance to kill Ross.
A Lizardman who smelled something ran over from afar to feed. He thought there was plenty of food here, looking at the dozen strong men, and couldn't help but drool continuously. But the next second, Tony, deep in thought, grabbed him, pressed him down, and sat on him, falling into deeper contemplation.
The Lizardman howled strangely, struggling violently. Tony simply held his neck firmly, pressing his head firmly to the ground.
“This person can still recover; just bring him back and inject him with medication…” A young soldier who couldn’t stand it whispered.
“Recover? Are you sure?” Tony scoffed. *A living genetically mutated species. If those beasts in the Military didn’t drag them back for dissection and experimentation, I’d write my name backward.*
“Why do you soldiers have to use Tranquilizer Guns and Stun Guns to capture these Lizardmen, when spray-form medication could make them recover in minutes? Wouldn’t it be better to attack them on the spot with Antidote Bullets?” Tony said coldly.
The soldiers’ morale instantly plummeted. It wasn’t that no one had thought of it; they just refused to think in that direction, especially the Sergeant. Even guessing, he knew why the higher-ups wanted them to capture them alive.
Once captured, there was almost no chance of them being released. They were all Lizardmen; who could tell which one was their former family member or friend? If the Military insisted your family and friends were killed and eaten by Lizardmen, what could you do?
These Lizardmen were experimental material fallen from the sky.
(end of chapter)
“Ross, you motherfucker, you piece of shit…”
A string of curses burst from Tony’s mouth, going on for five minutes without repetition. Even from a great distance, Ross could feel the towering resentment.
“Hehehe, very good, very good. You have resentment in your heart? You feel dissatisfied? You’re very disappointed with this world?” When Tony paused for breath, Ross chuckled, speaking profoundly under the gaze of staff members with strange expressions.
When did the imposing General Ross become so good-tempered?
“You motherfucker…” Tony continued to curse, getting thirsty mid-rant. He casually grabbed a bottle of drink from a nearby store, drank it, and resumed his tirade.
Ross initially smiled, thinking, *Resentment is good, rage is good. He’s young, after all. Even with exceptional strength, he’s just a hot-blooded fellow. A little guidance and he can be brought to my side.* Ross waited patiently. He wanted to wait until Tony was tired of cursing before persuading him properly, turning the young man’s attention in other directions.
Gradually, his smile faded because Tony kept cursing. In just this short time, he had cursed Ross’s entire Ancestral Lineage. The old General’s face twitched, finding it hard to maintain his composure.
“Tony, think carefully, it was Hulk who caused all of this…”
“Ross, I’ll fuck your ancestors.”
“Tony, now only I can help you!”
“Ross, I’ll fuck your whole family.”
“Tony…”
“Ross, I’ll fuck your daughter. I’m going to put a cuckoldry hat on Hulk,” Tony said.
Hulk was already green enough; what difference would a little more green make?
Ross’s face completely darkened. Towering rage brewed in his heart, his imposing face flushed crimson, and veins bulged on his neck. He had worked his way up to the position of General; in decades, no one had ever insulted him like this, using such vulgar curses of a street thug. Everyone else engaged in scheming and maneuvering, a struggle of power and political intrigue. No one was like Tony.
Ross’s patience was slowly depleted, replaced by immense rage and malice. Tony had successfully ignited the old General’s fury with the most basic, common, and vulgar trash talk. He snorted. *These Metahumans, they think they can look down on everything just because they’ve gained some power. Not a single one of them is good.*
However, that last sentence did make him ponder for a moment – *that sounds like a good idea* – no, *Pah! What kind of demonic idea is that? How can I bow to a Metahuman?*
The numerous soldiers and the staff on the other end were dumbfounded. They put down what they were holding, hugging their knees and quietly listening to Tony’s barrage of curses, looking between Ross and Tony. Their gazes grew stranger, increasingly off.
For some reason, seeing the highly influential General Ross being cursed like a grandson gave them a strange sense of… satisfaction?
“Ross, where’s your daughter? I’ve decided, I’m going to sleep with her! Following Hulk has no future; following me is the true path.” Tony grumbled and cursed, then his tone shifted as he shamelessly asked Ross for his daughter’s geographical location.
His tone was as normal and flat as if he were discussing what to eat for dinner that night.
Ross, his face dark, turned off the equipment and fiercely slammed the screen-off button, sitting in the main seat, remaining silent. He finally understood: this Tony was just an idiot. Even if the guy achieved remarkable feats in Gotham City and unified the Gangs, it didn’t change his idiotic nature.
The other personnel dared not approach. The enraged General Ross might roar at them. But in their exchanged glances, a spark of excitement and stimulation seemed visible in each other’s eyes. A few who harbored resentment towards Ross felt immense delight.
Ross was known for his strict and harsh demeanor, which caused many to feel privately discontent.
He sat there, frowning tightly, his back to everyone, naturally unaware of their secret communication. He pondered for a very long time, his expression constantly changing, unpredictable. Occasionally, the personnel operating the equipment watched with palpitating fear. Could this notoriously Hawkish General be planning to kill Tony?
It was hard to say. Ross was a famous hardline and iron-fisted figure within the Military. He and Stryker were the most well-known ruthless men, each responsible for different directions of the Super-Soldier Program.
Ross stroked his beard, as if having made a difficult decision. He slowly turned around, somewhat hesitant, somewhat wavering. He called his adjutant and tentatively asked, “Where is Betty now?”
“Huh?” The adjutant was instantly dumbfounded.
…
More than a dozen soldiers looked at Tony with worshipful gazes. They had been in the confined Military Camp for a long time and weren't familiar with Tony’s situation, so they hadn't immediately recognized this recently prominent Metahuman. They had only vaguely heard about him in their conversations. Ross’s repeated use of “Tony” naturally made them suddenly enlightened, cold sweat trickling. It turned out that this strong individual before them was the Machinist.
Mechanic tony was high on the New York Police Department and local Military’s High-Risk Personnel List.
Privately, a saying quietly circulated: *Whoever the hell fights Tony in a high-tech city is insane.*
Someone who could curse Ross until he lost his temper was truly extraordinary.
“Huh, where’s that old dog Ross? Did he really die of a sudden heart attack from my cursing? A General with such shallow composure; he was clearly destined for an early death.” Tony patted the silent walkie-talkie, sneering, completely disregarding the fact that Ross was over fifty.
If he said he was destined for an early death, then he was destined for an early death. At worst, Tony would find a chance to kill Ross.
A Lizardman who smelled something ran over from afar to feed. He thought there was plenty of food here, looking at the dozen strong men, and couldn't help but drool continuously. But the next second, Tony, deep in thought, grabbed him, pressed him down, and sat on him, falling into deeper contemplation.
The Lizardman howled strangely, struggling violently. Tony simply held his neck firmly, pressing his head firmly to the ground.
“This person can still recover; just bring him back and inject him with medication…” A young soldier who couldn’t stand it whispered.
“Recover? Are you sure?” Tony scoffed. *A living genetically mutated species. If those beasts in the Military didn’t drag them back for dissection and experimentation, I’d write my name backward.*
“Why do you soldiers have to use Tranquilizer Guns and Stun Guns to capture these Lizardmen, when spray-form medication could make them recover in minutes? Wouldn’t it be better to attack them on the spot with Antidote Bullets?” Tony said coldly.
The soldiers’ morale instantly plummeted. It wasn’t that no one had thought of it; they just refused to think in that direction, especially the Sergeant. Even guessing, he knew why the higher-ups wanted them to capture them alive.
Once captured, there was almost no chance of them being released. They were all Lizardmen; who could tell which one was their former family member or friend? If the Military insisted your family and friends were killed and eaten by Lizardmen, what could you do?
These Lizardmen were experimental material fallen from the sky.
(end of chapter)
