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Chapter 204: The Reclusive Beast
On the Indian Subcontinent, the average standard of living is generally low.
In a remote small town, dilapidated houses stretched endlessly. The drafty windows, the leaky ceilings through which one could see the sky, the narrow streets, and the chaotic, unkempt environment—all silently spoke of the poverty here.
This afternoon, some elderly paupers sat lazily by their doors, idly watching the people coming and going on both sides of the street.
Afternoon was a time for work, but unfortunately, this place was too poor. Only a few could find a decent job; the majority had to toil and struggle for a better future.
"Hey, Old Johan, are you feeling better?"
"All better! I could kill an ox with a single punch now! The new doctor is amazing!" Old Johan grinned, revealing a set of yellow teeth, and defiantly flexed his withered muscles.
A year ago, a kind and low-key doctor arrived here. His skill in the Healing Arts was very high, and his fees were extremely reasonable. He quickly made a name for himself locally, and word of his fame spread to the neighboring towns. Many of the poor would rather walk several kilometers just to seek his treatment.
He was said to be a very low-key doctor who wore glasses, had a square-shaped face, slightly curly black hair, and a strong build. In terms of demeanor, he seemed more like a scholar.
With his somewhat melancholic eyes, he attracted the attention of many local young women. Every time the doctor went out, a group of young girls would secretly peek at him through the cracks in their windows.
This was a gentle-mannered doctor. No matter how angry or irritable a patient was, he was never seen to lose his temper. It was as if he was incapable of anger; "gentle and polite" were his defining traits.
Everyone here loved him and enjoyed being around him.
The doctor happened to pass by, carrying a worn-out medical case on his back. It was a rather outdated case, clearly a product from many years ago. Even its straps were damaged, with a loose thread dangling down, fluttering gently in the breeze.
Seeing Old Johan, the doctor smiled and greeted him, saying gently, "Hello there, Johan. How are you feeling?"
"Oh, Doctor, thank you so much! You saved my life..." Old Johan stood up, flustered, his face full of gratitude. He looked at the doctor with a gaze filled with respect and reverence.
The doctor smiled. He always treated everyone here the same way, whether they were the local poor or wealthy magnates drawn by his reputation. His attitude was always calm and unhurried.
The local poor had heard a rumor that a rich man from a big city, upon learning of the doctor's skills, had offered a fortune to hire him as a private physician. The offer included a dedicated office, research equipment, and a large monthly salary.
The doctor had decisively refused, which made many of the poor feel both relieved and bewildered.
But the doctor simply continued to live peacefully in the slums, leading many to believe he was a volunteer who had come specifically to treat the wretchedly poor.
Only the doctor himself knew that he had come here out of sheer necessity. He had to do this to suppress the Beast within him.
A poor place had its advantages: a sparser population, simpler affairs, and a lack of unexpected incidents. It was the best sanctuary he could have chosen.
Bruce Banner. Since the battle of New York, he had gone through countless hardships to escape the United States, crossing the vast Pacific Ocean and skirting the Indian Ocean to arrive on the Indian Subcontinent. Here, he had specifically sought out a small town like this one to live out his life as a doctor.
Everyone said he was good-tempered, but the reality was the complete opposite. Most of the time, he enjoyed being angry. Rage was like a Catalyst for his body; his very senses told him he relished the feeling.
Anger allowed him to do things he could never do otherwise.
But the price was that the Beast would be easily unleashed. If that happened, everything would be over. Not only would he be completely exposed, but everyone here would die.
In the past few years, similar incidents had happened far too many times. Whenever he opened his eyes again, his surroundings would be in ruins, littered with incomplete corpses. Intestines, organs, and brains were splattered across the ravaged earth like graffiti materials, painting the landscape in a unique and gruesome tapestry of colors.
Those were the colors of madness and despair.
Fortunately, for more than a year now, he had desperately studied the arts of Yoga and Qi Nurturing. He was now better able to control his emotions, and for over a year, the Beast had not surfaced.
But the Rage that still lingered within him told him that the terrifying thing had never disappeared. It was always there, residing inside him, glaring at him furiously.
The next time it was unleashed, the destruction would be even more savage. The long suppression had made the green Beast restless and irritable, its Rage growing stronger with each passing day.
Banner hurried back home. This time of day was always set aside for his Yoga practice, which greatly helped him control his ceaseless Wrath.
He casually swung the medical case behind him, took the slightly rusted key from his waist, and moved to unlock the tightly shut door of his house. The motion was practiced; he had repeated it countless times over the past year.
A faint sound came from behind him.
"I'm not seeing any more patients today. Please come back tomorrow," Banner said without turning his head.
The sound behind him stopped abruptly. An emotionless gaze was fixed on him.
A Beast-like intuition made Banner freeze. This was a different kind of feeling—a sense of threat and hostility. A chill shot to the crown of his head, making his hair stand on end.
"So you finally couldn't help but track me down? What organization are you from? The Federal Government? The Military? Or some other random agency?"
He sighed and slowly turned around, cautiously looking at the source of the gaze. But his expression changed in an instant. He had guessed wrong.
It wasn't human.
It was a small robot, with a full set of facial features and distinct limbs. A scarlet light emanated from its electronic pupils, chilling to the bone.
The narrow street separated them, its surface littered with piles of trash. A piece of scrap paper, lifted by a gust of wind, fluttered down into the middle of the street. Another gust blew, smoothing the crumpled paper flat against the ground.
One man and one machine stared at each other, separated by just a few meters.
Bruce Banner watched in silence for several seconds. He didn't say a word; he couldn't. He could only slowly pull open his door and step inside.
In his spare time, he went online, so he was naturally no stranger to this type of robot. In fact, for certain reasons, its image was etched into his memory.
At this moment, words were utterly superfluous.
That person had finally come for revenge.
(end of chapter)
On the Indian Subcontinent, the average standard of living is generally low.
In a remote small town, dilapidated houses stretched endlessly. The drafty windows, the leaky ceilings through which one could see the sky, the narrow streets, and the chaotic, unkempt environment—all silently spoke of the poverty here.
This afternoon, some elderly paupers sat lazily by their doors, idly watching the people coming and going on both sides of the street.
Afternoon was a time for work, but unfortunately, this place was too poor. Only a few could find a decent job; the majority had to toil and struggle for a better future.
"Hey, Old Johan, are you feeling better?"
"All better! I could kill an ox with a single punch now! The new doctor is amazing!" Old Johan grinned, revealing a set of yellow teeth, and defiantly flexed his withered muscles.
A year ago, a kind and low-key doctor arrived here. His skill in the Healing Arts was very high, and his fees were extremely reasonable. He quickly made a name for himself locally, and word of his fame spread to the neighboring towns. Many of the poor would rather walk several kilometers just to seek his treatment.
He was said to be a very low-key doctor who wore glasses, had a square-shaped face, slightly curly black hair, and a strong build. In terms of demeanor, he seemed more like a scholar.
With his somewhat melancholic eyes, he attracted the attention of many local young women. Every time the doctor went out, a group of young girls would secretly peek at him through the cracks in their windows.
This was a gentle-mannered doctor. No matter how angry or irritable a patient was, he was never seen to lose his temper. It was as if he was incapable of anger; "gentle and polite" were his defining traits.
Everyone here loved him and enjoyed being around him.
The doctor happened to pass by, carrying a worn-out medical case on his back. It was a rather outdated case, clearly a product from many years ago. Even its straps were damaged, with a loose thread dangling down, fluttering gently in the breeze.
Seeing Old Johan, the doctor smiled and greeted him, saying gently, "Hello there, Johan. How are you feeling?"
"Oh, Doctor, thank you so much! You saved my life..." Old Johan stood up, flustered, his face full of gratitude. He looked at the doctor with a gaze filled with respect and reverence.
The doctor smiled. He always treated everyone here the same way, whether they were the local poor or wealthy magnates drawn by his reputation. His attitude was always calm and unhurried.
The local poor had heard a rumor that a rich man from a big city, upon learning of the doctor's skills, had offered a fortune to hire him as a private physician. The offer included a dedicated office, research equipment, and a large monthly salary.
The doctor had decisively refused, which made many of the poor feel both relieved and bewildered.
But the doctor simply continued to live peacefully in the slums, leading many to believe he was a volunteer who had come specifically to treat the wretchedly poor.
Only the doctor himself knew that he had come here out of sheer necessity. He had to do this to suppress the Beast within him.
A poor place had its advantages: a sparser population, simpler affairs, and a lack of unexpected incidents. It was the best sanctuary he could have chosen.
Bruce Banner. Since the battle of New York, he had gone through countless hardships to escape the United States, crossing the vast Pacific Ocean and skirting the Indian Ocean to arrive on the Indian Subcontinent. Here, he had specifically sought out a small town like this one to live out his life as a doctor.
Everyone said he was good-tempered, but the reality was the complete opposite. Most of the time, he enjoyed being angry. Rage was like a Catalyst for his body; his very senses told him he relished the feeling.
Anger allowed him to do things he could never do otherwise.
But the price was that the Beast would be easily unleashed. If that happened, everything would be over. Not only would he be completely exposed, but everyone here would die.
In the past few years, similar incidents had happened far too many times. Whenever he opened his eyes again, his surroundings would be in ruins, littered with incomplete corpses. Intestines, organs, and brains were splattered across the ravaged earth like graffiti materials, painting the landscape in a unique and gruesome tapestry of colors.
Those were the colors of madness and despair.
Fortunately, for more than a year now, he had desperately studied the arts of Yoga and Qi Nurturing. He was now better able to control his emotions, and for over a year, the Beast had not surfaced.
But the Rage that still lingered within him told him that the terrifying thing had never disappeared. It was always there, residing inside him, glaring at him furiously.
The next time it was unleashed, the destruction would be even more savage. The long suppression had made the green Beast restless and irritable, its Rage growing stronger with each passing day.
Banner hurried back home. This time of day was always set aside for his Yoga practice, which greatly helped him control his ceaseless Wrath.
He casually swung the medical case behind him, took the slightly rusted key from his waist, and moved to unlock the tightly shut door of his house. The motion was practiced; he had repeated it countless times over the past year.
A faint sound came from behind him.
"I'm not seeing any more patients today. Please come back tomorrow," Banner said without turning his head.
The sound behind him stopped abruptly. An emotionless gaze was fixed on him.
A Beast-like intuition made Banner freeze. This was a different kind of feeling—a sense of threat and hostility. A chill shot to the crown of his head, making his hair stand on end.
"So you finally couldn't help but track me down? What organization are you from? The Federal Government? The Military? Or some other random agency?"
He sighed and slowly turned around, cautiously looking at the source of the gaze. But his expression changed in an instant. He had guessed wrong.
It wasn't human.
It was a small robot, with a full set of facial features and distinct limbs. A scarlet light emanated from its electronic pupils, chilling to the bone.
The narrow street separated them, its surface littered with piles of trash. A piece of scrap paper, lifted by a gust of wind, fluttered down into the middle of the street. Another gust blew, smoothing the crumpled paper flat against the ground.
One man and one machine stared at each other, separated by just a few meters.
Bruce Banner watched in silence for several seconds. He didn't say a word; he couldn't. He could only slowly pull open his door and step inside.
In his spare time, he went online, so he was naturally no stranger to this type of robot. In fact, for certain reasons, its image was etched into his memory.
At this moment, words were utterly superfluous.
That person had finally come for revenge.
(end of chapter)
