Colombian Gamma Chronicles Chapter 5

[legfan71]

Chapter 5: 50 Shades of Green

Popeye rubbed consciousness back into his dry, scratchy eyes as he unbuckled his seatbelt and rose from the plush leather seat. Even in a private jet, the flight had felt long. Shaking out his creaking knees, he gathered his bag and made his way to the door.

As the pilot appeared at the head of the aisle, Popeye waved him away. "I've got it."

With a yawn, he twisted the latch on the door to the plane and opened the hatch. Popeye was met with a swirl of cool, New York air, and a moment later, the airport tech rolled a staircase to the door. As he began to descend the steps, a slender figure glided across the tarmac to meet him.

"Are you the one they call Popeye?" The man's voice was quiet, almost a whisper. His mannerisms were subtle. He looked young. Clean cut. Handsome. The language of his wiry body came across as respectful and polite. Deferential, even. He couldn't be older than his early twenties. Good, Popeye thought with a grin. Finally a gringo who knew his place.

"Depends. You Nightmare?"

"Yes, sir." Simple. Direct. Respectful. Popeye liked the young man's response.

For the first time, Popeye met the other man's eyes. And for the first time in as long as he could remember, penetrating talons of prickling fear lurched up the length of his spine, an involuntary shiver shaking his shoulders as it arrived at the nape of his neck. Nightmare's eyes didn't look much different than normal, aside from the fact that his irises were so dark that they almost appeared black. Something within their murky depths raised the tiny hairs on his arms and neck, however. He couldn't describe exactly what it was that bothered him, he was just instantly flooded with an intense feeling of wrongness as he locked onto the man's slitted pupils.

"I apologize," Nightmare said, neither his expression nor his voice betraying even the merest hint of emotion. "Please don't be afraid. Even when I don't intend to use my powers, hints of them tend to leak from my eyes. If it makes you more comfortable, feel free not to make direct eye contact."

Popeye swallowed hard, nodded, then finally managed to tear his gaze from the young man's soulless eyes. "I..." he began, visibly shaken by mere eye contact. "...yes. That will do."

"You're welcome," Nightmare said, despite the fact that Popeye hadn't actually thanked him. "I thought it might make you feel better that way."

Popeye took a deep breath, quickly regaining his composure. "I don't need to feel better, boy," he snapped. "I just don't often deal with you freaks."

This word brought the first hint of emotion that the young man had displayed. His lips twitched. Ever so slightly. The reaction was barely noticeable. But it was there. He held his anger in check. He did not want a repeat of the incident that occurred the last time he lost control.

"We have business to discuss," said the young man, trying to ignore the other man's insult and instead focus on the potential financial windfall that his visit portended. "I would be happy to accompany you to the place of your choosing."

Popeye grinned. "Gringos. So fucking formal." He adjusted the strap of his bag on his shoulder. "Just take me to the nearest place with some fucking tequila."

"As you wish," said the boy. His dark, disturbing gaze flowed to Popeye's bag. "Would you like me to take your bag for you, sir?"

"No," Popeye said flatly, fingers tightening over the strap. "Like I said. Just take me to the bar."

Nightmare gave his prospective employer a respectful nod, then guided him from the tarmac to the airport entrance. They quickly found a place in the back corner of an airport bar. Popeye ordered several tequila shots the instant the waitress found them, then settled into his seat, still taking care not to look his companion directly in the eye.

"Aren't you going to have anything to drink?" Popeye asked after downing his first shot.

"I'm quite alright," Nightmare replied. "Now, whenever you're ready, please tell me what you'd like me to do."

Popeye frowned, instantly suspicious of any pussy that wouldn't share a drink with him. "So polite. I'm not sure this is the right job for you, kid. You sound more like one of those American preppy boys than someone that can handle the kind of job I have in mind for you."

"And what kind of job is that?" Nightmare asked, curiosity overriding his annoyance at continually being dismissed by this man.

Popeye laughed, this idiot had no idea what he was getting himself into. He began to wonder if Pablo had made a mistake. The kid didn't even look as frightening in person as he did in the photo that Pablo had given him. In fact, he looked fairly normal, aside from those creepy eyes.

"It's the kind of job where your 'powers' aren't going to help you. This wom-, this person..." he cut himself off, not wanting to reveal too much, "...can squish you like the bug that you are. They cannot be hurt by knives, guns, even a goddamn rocket! I don't think you're capable of handling a person like this with your silly little nightmare tricks."
   
The muscles in Nightmare's jaw clenched almost imperceptibly. "I assure you, sir. I'm quite capable."

"Capable here in the land of softness and fucking honey is not the same as capable in Colombia, boy." Quickly downing his other two shots, Popeye rose to leave. "I think I've made a mistake. You're not the kind of man we need for this job. Have a nice day."

Faster than thought, Nightmare's hand shot out, his fingers curling around Popeye's wrist. Instantly, Popeye's mind reeled. He was no longer sitting in the airport bar. Instead, he was splashing into the coldness of the sea. It was night, only the occasional glimmer of starlight on the serpentine ridges of rippling water telling him that his eyes were working at all.

"Pablo?!" he heard a tremulous voice cry from a short distance away.

The bitter cold of briny waves lapping at his chin, Popeye released a held breath with a small spray of water. He knew that voice. Well.

"Esmerita?" he intoned, his long-dead sister's pet name coming, unbidden, to his trembling lips.

"Pablo! Help me! I can't keep this up!"

A lump quickly forming in his throat, Pablo swallowed, accidentally gulping down a mouthful of acrid sea water. He sputtered and coughed as he turned to find the girl's location, his hands churning, feet kicking to raise his head further out of the water. Yet, for some reason, he continued to sink lower.

"Esmerita?! Tell me where you are!" he spat, quickly clapping his lips shut as the frigid water now slapped at the bottom of his nose.

"I'm here, Pablo. Please! Help!"

Pablo's head whipped this way and that, yet he couldn't see her. He knew that she was close, yet her voice seemed to echo off the surface of the water. He couldn't tell its origin. He also couldn't see any land in sight.

"Pablo!" his sister shrieked a moment later.

Popeye cursed but it came out as merely a gurgle, salty coldness flowing into his mouth even as he closed it. He couldn't seem to tread water properly, sinking lower into the water yet again. With no other choice, he swallowed it, tilting his head back to suck a much needed breath through numb nostrils into burning lungs.

"I'm so cold, Pablo. I'm sinking. I can't seem to stop sinking."

Popeye attempted to reach outward. To swim. But his body couldn't seem to hold any position but vertical. The water now covered the bridge of his nose. He was beginning to lose feeling in his hands.

Desperation gripping him, he thrashed about, but when his strength began to fade and he returned to treading water, nothing had changed. All he had managed to do was burn his rapidly dwindling supply of oxygen. He tilted his head back again, but now he couldn't get his nose above the surface of the water.

Kicking harder, churning his hands with all his might, nothing seemed to make any difference. Pain filled his chest as his body implored him to take another breath.

"Pablo!" his sister's voice shrieked, the end of her cry lost in a gurgle.

Still, he could see nothing but darkness as his eyes bobbed at water level, the salt stinging as he blinked.

Popeye roared his frustration into the heat-sucking depths of the ocean. He couldn't feel his legs anymore. Nor his arms. He wasn't sure if he was still treading water, and the ripples and waves now danced at his hairline.

If the darkness he had experienced above the surface of the water had seemed complete, it was nothing compared to that which lay below. "Esmerita!" he screamed, depleting the last reserve of air in his burning lungs.

His body screamed for oxygen. He began to wretch, barely able to keep his mouth closed with every ounce of willpower he possessed. He made one last attempt to swim, but he couldn't feel any part of his body now. Only bitter cold. Consuming darkness. Despair.

With a final mental image of his sister, utterly helpless, slipping beneath the waves, Popeye raged inside as he felt his lips part. He couldn't stop them from opening. He was as powerless over his own body as he was to help his sister. Icy liquid pushed into his body, filling his lungs with emptiness. His body convulsed once. Twice.

Agony swirled in the depths of his soul as he felt everything fade. Powerless. Helpless. Useless. He deserved to die. And so much worse. Esmerita.

Esmerita...!

Then, he was back in the airport bar, dropping to the ground in a lifeless crumple. His fingers clawed at his own arms as they clenched desperately about his chest. He curled into the fetal position, shaking uncontrollably as he gasped for air.

"F-f-fuck!" he mouthed in a silent rasp, his teeth chattering from a mind-numbing cold that was no longer there.

No longer touching his prospective employer, Nightmare raised a finger into the air, waiting patiently until the waitress saw him. Casually, he asked, "Another tequila, please? For my friend? I think he might need one."

The woman's eyes followed Nightmare's gaze toward the man writhing on the floor, widening as she took in the pathetic sight. Nightmare's expression was as serene as ever as he lowered his hand to the table, watching impassively with his disturbing eyes as the waitress rushed to kneel at the fallen man's side.

"Get away from me!" he roared, as he pushed aside the waitress, refusing to be helped by some damn woman.

Popeyeshook his head from side to side, trying to regain his senses, as he realized the entire frightening episode was merely a hallucination. Probably brought about from having too much tequila, too quickly, he thought, trying to rationalize the impossibility of what just happened to him.

He slowly rose up from the ground, his shirt soaked in sweat, staggering slightly as he attempted to stand straight without wobbling and falling right back down again.

Nightmare reached down to help the poor waitress up, "I apologize for my associate's behavior, he is...not feeling well."

The woman looked at her helper and shuddered. His appearance looked decidedly different than just a few minutes earlier. Somehow, he looked like he had aged twenty years. His face was gaunt, as if the fat from his cheeks had somehow been sucked from them. Large, angry-looking veins, appearing almost black in color, protruded from his forehead, snaking down from the top of his hairline, reaching the top of his eyebrows.

He looks like a demon, she thought, as she hurried up from the floor, smoothed out her blouse and raced away as fast as possible from the two disturbing men.

Popeye glared at the gringo, his eyes brimming with rage. No one embarrassed him like this. After this freak completes his mission, he won't be needed anymore, he thought to himself.

Nightmare closed his eyes and smiled, feeling invigorated by the intense anger Popeye was exuding. As rage seeped out of every pore of his body, Nightmare soaked it in like a sponge, welcoming the man's anger and fear like a vampire would the hot, succulent rush of a freshly punctured vein.

I could feed off of this one for weeks, he thought, suddenly looking forward to the long flight ahead of him.

***


*KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK!*

Agent Johnson raised his head ever so slightly off his pillow, startled by the sudden and heavy pounding on his door.

"What the fuck...?" he rubbed his temples, completely discombobulated, his head pounding from a night of drinking. He blinked a couple of times and looked around, trying to get his bearings. Nothing looked familiar. It was obviously a hotel room, and a decent one at that, but he had no recollection of how he had even gotten there.

*KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK!*

"Jesus Christ, HOLD ON!" he yelled in response, instantly regretting it as pain lanced his throbbing head.

He sat up and grabbed his blanket off the bed, wrapping it around himself. Who the hell would be knocking on his door this early?

*KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK!*

"Alright, alright, alright," he responded to the soon-to-be-dead person pounding on his door. He flung it open, bloodshot eyes fiery with anger, intent on showing the person on the other side how angry he was.

A figure he did not immediately recognize was standing in the doorway. The combination of the intense, almost blinding sunlight behind this person, and his own senses being completely off-kilter, created a weird effect. An odd silhouette of a man, his face hidden in the shadows created by the early morning sun.

"Good morning. I thought you could use this," the early morning visitor offered, stepping out of the shadows and into the room, extending him a cup of coffee. Rubbing his temple, more baffled than angry now, Archibald quickly accepted. Right now, the way he felt, he would have accepted a cup of coffee from Pablo Escobar himself.

Recognition slowly filtered through the alcohol-induced haze in Agent Johnson's brain. He knew that voice. It was slightly different from the voice he'd heard last night, but it was the same person, albeit in a much different form.

"Bruce? Sorry, I didn't recognize you. Last night you were, uhh...you were... You know what the hell you were," the man stammered out, a clearly annoyed tone to his voice, "big, green, and insulting."

Archibald rubbed his head with his free hand, inadvertently dropping his blanket to the floor. "What the hell are you doing here so early? And where is 'here' anyway? Where the hell am I?"

Bruce smiled, clearly enjoying Agent Johnson's early morning struggles. One of the many benefits to being the Hulk was not having to deal with the ramifications of having one too many drinks. Or even three dozen too many.

"You were at a bar last night. A hotel bar. Any of this ring a bell? I carried you up here last night once you passed out. Before you started praying to the porcelain god, though, we made plans to go and pay our friend Dulce a visit," Bruce replied. He looked amused, much to Archibald's annoyance.

Eager to get things moving along, Bruce walked over to grab Agent Johnson's shirt, which was lying in a crumpled heap on the floor, and tossed it at him.

"Here. Now, get your shit together. Brush your teeth, get dressed, and let's get the hell out of here."

Agent Johnson slid his arms through his shirt sleeves and began buttoning up his shirt, irritated at the tone Bruce was taking with him. "Why are you in such a rush to get embarrassed by Dulce again? You must be a glutton for punishment."

Bruce glared at him, on the verge of firing back his own insult, then stopped himself. Why stoop to this idiot's level? he thought as he watched the hungover DEA agent attempt to button up his shirt, but doing it unevenly.

Bruce just shook his head and chuckled, unable to resist. "Once you figure out how to get dressed, I'll be waiting for you in my rental. It's the black jeep out the front door to the right."

"What the hell are you talking about?" Agent Johnson replied, looking down as he attempted to push the last button through its corresponding slit only to find he didn't have one remaining. As he fumbled with the two halves of his shirt, his lethargic mind struggling to understand what was happening, his unfastened pants fell to his ankles in a crumpled heap.

"Son of a bitch!" he mumbled to himself. This day had not gotten off to the best start.

***

"Ahh, here we go. This is much better now," Dr. Schlaukopf exclaimed, relieved that the extender on the blood pressure cuff allowed him to finally wrap it around Camila's newly enlarged upper arm.

"What happens if I flex?" Camila playfully responded, pretending like she was going to raise her arm up.

"No, no, no, my dear, don't do that. Please just sit still," he pleaded with her, motioning her to keep her arm down. He didn't think he could handle seeing her flex her mighty new bicep without causing a massive spike in his own blood pressure.   

Camila frowned. She loved showing off her new muscles!

The doctor listened intently as he measured her blood pressure, shaking his head in amazement as he did. "Just perfect my dear, just perfect!"

Camila's frown quickly turned into a huge smile. No one in her entire life had ever used the word "perfect" to describe her health, or her physique. But that was before her treatment. Now, thanks to the doctor and Dulce, everything about her seemed to be perfect. Or even better than perfect.

"You said my pulse was the same as a world-class athlete right?"

"That is correct," he confirmed, still amazed at how much his treatment improved his patient's strength and overall health. And it did so with such little gamma radiation!

"So other than Dulce, I'm probably the healthiest and strongest person in Colombia. Is that right?" she asked, eager to hear this confirmed by the doctor.

The doctor thought about it for a moment, and after careful consideration, he had to agree. "Why yes, I suppose you are."

"Yes!!!," she yelled excitedly, triumphantly shooting her muscular arms over her head as she slid off the doctor's examination table. She misjudged the space her new physique took up and knocked the doctor off his feet.

"Ooofff," he exclaimed as the air was knocked from his lungs and he landed with a thud onto the hard ground.

"Oh, I'm so, so sorry, doctor," said Camila, hands flying to her mouth in surprise. "I'm still getting used to my new size. And my new strength. Here, let me help you—"

"No, no, that's quite alright my dear, I can manage," the doctor replied, slowly getting to his feet. He shook his head in amazement. "Little" Camila had become such a powerhouse!

Camila smiled sheepishly, embarrassed that she was such a klutz at this new size. However, she was thrilled that she now looked down on the doctor. Prior to the treatment, she had been a whole head shorter than him. Now, the top of his head only reached her lips. Taller and so much stronger than before. And her muscles were hard, strong, and oh-so sexy.

She leaned down and planted a kiss on the top of the doctor's bald head. "Thank you so much, Doctor Schlaukopf, you've changed my life! I feel like I can take on Escobar's men all by myself!"

It was the doctor's turn to smile sheepishly, "That's quite alright Camila, quite alright," he replied, so happy that he was able to help such a sweet girl.

"But remember, as strong as you've become, you're not invulnerable. It took some effort, but I was able to penetrate your arm with the needle when I drew your blood. A bullet, even a knife, will still be able to harm you, so don't do anything foolish. I would hate for anything to happen to you!"

Camila smiled warmly in response, dark eyes dancing mischievously as she spoke. "Doctor, didn't you know that the name Camila actually means "foolish" in Spanish? I can't help myself!"

The doctor paused for a moment, unsure if she was joking, his hesitation in responding thankfully interrupted as the phone in the room rang. Camilla's smile instantly drew into a serious line, and she rushed to pick up the receiver, careful not to bump into him again. The certainty of purpose that the young woman displayed startled the scientist. It was almost as if Camila had been expecting a phone call just then.

"Hello?...Yes, yes it is." She looked over at him, her lips curling into a sly grin. "Yes, I have the doctor right here. Hold on a moment please."

Her grin turned into a full-blown smile as she handed the doctor the phone. "It's for you."

"For me?" he responded, clearly puzzled. He had not received a phone call since his arrival in this country, as no one knew that he was here.

He hesitated for a moment, a little frightened, unsure of who might be on the other end. "H-hello?"

For a brief moment there was no response, causing panic to set in, before the unmistakable voice of someone that he missed dearly responded. "Otto, my love, is that really you?"

The doctor's heart began to race. For a moment it felt like he was dreaming, that this couldn't be real. From the moment that he was pulled from her side, he had feared that he might never speak to his beloved Sabine again.

"Otto, are you there?" she asked, her voice tense with wavering hope as she anxiously waited for him to respond.

"Yes, my love, I'm here, I'm here," he replied. His body trembled, voice cracked, as he tried, but failed, to hold back the tsunami of pent-up emotion held in check since they had been separated. All of his fears, his worries, his overwhelming loneliness, overcame him in this moment, the joy of simply hearing her familiar voice bursting a dam inside of him. Thick tears of joy formed in his eyes before running freely down his weathered cheeks at the audible confirmation that his wife was okay.

As a choked sob sounded on the other end of the line, he could hear that Sabine was equally affected. Their shared emotion was so strong, so viscerally palpable, that the 9,000 kilometer distance between them seemed to vanish in an instant. He could almost feel her presence in the room with him, providing him a deep sense of comfort, but also great sadness. More than anything else, he wanted to be with her again. To hold her close and never be apart again.

"Are you feeling okay? Your voice⁠—it sounds so weak, so tired," Sabine asked. Her concern for his well-being was her priority, just as hers was for him.

"I'm fine," he replied firmly, pushing strength into his tremulous voice. It took a bit of effort, as he was physically and emotionally drained, but he knew that he needed to allay her concern.

The last thing she needs is to worry about me, he thought, but knowing that with this much distance separating them, it was probably the only thing that she thought about.

"I have some great news, my love. Soon we'll be together again," He smiled, tears rolling over his lips to land with a salty plop on the tip of his quivering tongue. His heart brimmed with excitement, knowing his news would lift her spirits.

"Are you coming back home Otto?" she asked, her voice filled with hope.

"No, you will be coming to me. And even better, I have a treatment for you. One that will get you out of that wheelchair and back to dancing again."

This sounded too good to be true, she thought, but she knew Otto wouldn't say this unless it was possible. The thought of her regaining her health, her vitality, was an idea that she had completely given up on.

"I'll only dance if you perform The Schuhplattler with me!" she replied with excitement, already picturing Otto in goofy lederhosen with its suspenders. He would wear his traditional white shirt along with white socks pulled up to the knee, while she would wear her dirndl, a traditional green dress used for this dance, its close-fitting bodice that featured a low neckline, a white blouse underneath it, with a wide, high-waisted skirt accompanied by an apron.

"I cannot wait to be able to dance with you again either, my love," Otto replied, his pulse racing at the thought of this. He always loved seeing her wear the traditional Bavarian outfit used during this dance. It accentuated all of her ample, lush curves, which would soon be even more ample and lush. The thought of being able to get her out of her wheelchair made his heart soar.

"When is this miracle taking place Otto?" Sabine asked, hoping it would be as soon as possible. They had already been apart for far too long. Knowing that he was safe, hearing that they would be together again and that he would make her healthy once more was more than she could have hoped for. Now that she knew, waiting even another day would feel like an eternity.

"Soon my love, soon. It is being worked on as we speak, but we have to be careful, not only in getting you safely out of Germany but also where I am as well. Danger lurks in every corner."

Their joyful reunion was interrupted as Camila reached over to place a hand on his shoulder, signaling to him that he had to end their call.

"I will call you once the details are completed. Have patience, love. It should only be a few more days, and then we will never be apart again."

Camila's eyes teared up. The emotion of the moment was too much for her as well. She turned away from Otto, not wishing him to see her cry. She cursed herself, as she hated to let anyone see her show this type of weakness.

"I have to go now my sweet Sabine," Dr. Schlaukopf said, a touch of melancholy in his voice. Still, the sadness of having to end their conversation was buoyed by the knowledge that his wife would soon be healthy for good.

"I love you." Both spoke into the phone simultaneously, bringing broad smiles on either side of the Atlantic. As Otto handed the phone to Camila, he noticed that she had become emotional as well as he wiped away the wetness on his own cheeks, still beaming, his day made by the unexpected thrill of hearing Sabine's beautiful voice.

He reached over and placed his hand on Camila's arm, still surprised at the size and firmness of it, "Thank you sweet Camila for this wonderful surprise!"

Still sniffling, she lowered her gaze, not wanting to make eye contact with the doctor as she tried to compose herself.

He was confused at her reaction, but working in the lab for his entire career, he had not spent any time around women of Camila's age so he did not know how to properly respond to her surprising show of emotion. He wanted to make sure she knew how much this gesture meant to him, but based on the sudden feeling of awkwardness in the room he didn't want to taint this wonderful moment by making her feel more upset than she already appeared to be.
As Sabine would remind him when he would get frustrated with a colleague or superior and it would be difficult for him to hold his tongue, sometimes you have to know when to keep your big trap shut! He decided that this was one of the instances where it would be wise to listen to his wife's advice. As usual, she was right. She was always right! 

Despite his urge to comfort Camila, he turned and left the room, giving her the space she apparently needed.

As Camila heard the retreat of his footsteps, she took a deep breath, exhaling slowly out of her mouth, and smiled. That went even better than she could have hoped, she thought, pleased with herself, knowing how happy he would be with her now.

****

"Ever drive one of these things before?" Agent Johnson asked Bruce as he climbed into the passenger seat of the dust-covered jeep parked outside of his hotel room.

"I worked on an army base for years. What do you think?" Bruce replied curtly, wondering if it was a mistake to include the hung-over DEA agent in his return to Dulce's compound. He pulled out of the parking lot and accelerated toward the highway, the vehicle's open air design instantly making it difficult to speak in a normal tone.

"Alright, alright, my bad," Agent Johnson responded loudly over the whirling breeze that flapped the two mens' shirts and tousled their hair. Archibald threw his arms up in a mea culpa, not wanting to get the long drive off to a bad start.

"I guess it's my bad for thinking I could keep up pounding drinks with the god-damn Hulk," he joked, trying to lighten the mood.

He chuckled at the absurdity of his current situation. Five years ago, if you had told him he would be somewhere in South America, chasing down drug lords and getting drunk with the Incredible Hulk, he would have told you to stop smoking whatever it was you were smoking.

But here he was, doing exactly that.

Bruce smiled. This guy could be an ass, but he wasn't really a bad guy at all. Just a little full of himself on occasion, which for some immature reason that Bruce couldn't fully explain, made him enjoy his companion's current, self-inflicted condition a bit more than he should.

"How're you feeling? Coffee kicking in yet?"

Agent Johnson rubbed his temple, as if doing so would provide an up-to-the-minute check-up, "It's helping, but I could use about six more of them to be honest with you."

"I figured you might. Take a look on the floor in the back," he responded, hooking a thumb behind his head, motioning to the back. Agent Johnson almost laughed⁠—would have if his head hadn't felt as if it were a blacksmith's anvil. Four more coffee cups were wedged into a holder sitting there.

"You're welcome," Bruce deadpanned. He was proud of himself for being so thoughtful.

Agent Johnson couldn't help but smile. The guy could be an ass, but he really wasn't really a bad guy at all. Just a little bit full of himself on occasion. But who wouldn't be in his situation? He was the Hulk, for Christ's sake. And apparently, he was considerate also.

"Thanks," Agent Johnson replied sincerely, "You're more thoughtful than my ex-wife! I couldn't even get her to give me a blow-job, let alone make me a cup of coffee."

Bruce laughed out loud. This guy was something else!

"Did you ever make her a cup of coffee?" he asked, pretty sure he already knew what the man's answer would be.

Agent Johnson laughed like it was the most ridiculous question he had ever been asked, "What?! Now, why the hell would I do something like that?"

"Well, maybe you would have gotten more blow-jobs if you made her coffee once in a while," Bruce replied, pausing before he continued, allowing his question to sit out there for a few long moments. "You ever think about that?" he sniped, his tone more than a little condescending.

"Yeah, maybe you're right. It might have helped a little..." he responded, "...and maybe I wouldn't have so many ex-wives!"

"Oh well!" he snickered.

Bruce gave his companion a sidelong glance, eyebrows raised. "How many ex-wives are we talking about here?"

"Three. Well, three official ones anyway. I don't count the one that was annulled. Man, was that one a mistake!" Johnson replied nonplussed, as if he were responding to how many pairs of ties he owned.

Bruce shook his head. This guy just kept getting more and more interesting. "Sounds like you've made quite a few mistakes!"

Agent Johnson just smirked, showing the care-free attitude that was probably a prime contributor to multiple failed marriages.

"Apparently being this good-looking and charming isn't enough. I guess I should have made them coffee," he sneered sarcastically, without a trace of actual self-awareness. "Who knew?" he finished with a roll of his eyes.

Bruce laughed at his devil-may-care attitude. Agent Johnson certainly didn't seem to worry about much. Of course, Bruce considered that was probably the attitude one needed to deal with the daily stress of his job.

"What about you big guy? You ever been married?" the agent asked, curious how the logistics of that would work out if he was in his "other" form.

Bruce frowned at the question, squirming in his seat as guilt washed over him like a tidal wave. Agent Johnson's innocent inquiry shamed him into realizing that he hadn't even thought about Betty since his initial encounter with Dulce.

Had she had that much of an effect on him?

Bruce cleared his throat before answering, trying to clear his mind of Dulce at the same time. "My work, and my current...condition, isn't conducive to having a relationship."

Nor is it to have the father of the woman that I loved continuously trying to kill me, he thought to himself, immediately realizing he had thought about his love for Betty in past tense.

"Bullshit. You're telling me there's never been anyone? Even before you became the Hulk? I know there's women out there that like the nerdy type," Johnson responded incredulously, not intentionally trying to insult Bruce, but managing to accomplish it anyway.

Bruce ignored the other man's slight, shifting uncomfortably in his chair again as the conversation took an awkward turn. "I've never been married," he responded, thinking long and hard about the long, winding path his life had taken to this point.

Alone, in a jungle, in a foreign country, on a road to nowhere.

"There is a woman, Betty, that I've had a...somewhat complicated relationship with," he continued, a statement meant to try and explain the relationship's status for Agent Johnson's benefit as well as his own. Although saying her name aloud made the initial guilt he was feeling due to the strong connection he felt towards Dulce less pronounced, which he found odd.

How could a woman that I've only just met make me seemingly forget all about Betty? He wondered, feeling as if he should be more disappointed in himself than he actually was. 

Bruce was snapped out of his self-reflection, however, by another one of his passenger's inane questions. "So, did you two ever, you know, do it while you were the Hulk?"

As Bruce went silent, Johnson smirked, imagining a massive green mountain of muscles going at some poor woman until the bed frame cracked. "How did that work out, huh?" he asked, before he even allowed Bruce to answer his first question, assuming there was no way Bruce hadn't had sex with this Betty girl as the Hulk.

"N-no, we never did, uhh, have sex when I was the Hulk. Only when I was...like this," he responded uncomfortably. He didn't blame Agent Johnson for asking, despite the awkwardness. He himself had always wondered what it would be like to have sex in his other form.

"JESUS CHRIST! Are you fucking serious? Never?!! You must have the biggest case of blue balls, or in this case, GREEN BALLS, of anyone I've ever met!"

Jonhson shook his head over and over, feeling honestly sorry for his companion. My God! The man had been denied one of life's essentials, like food and water, all of his life.

"You poor bastard. No wonder you're always so uptight!" he replied excitedly, acting as if this revelation was equal to man discovering how to build a fire. He reached out and smacked Bruce's shoulder with the backside of his hand, causing him to flinch. "Okay, that settles it. We need to get the Hulk laid!"

***.

Just a few hours into his return flight to Colombia, Popeye sat in his chair seething, still embarrassed at allowing this freak to get inside of his head. However, his fear of failing Pablo prevented him from doing anything stupid. His job was simply to deliver him to Pablo, and he would do it. Then, it was up to the freak to deliver the results that Pablo expected. Or he would face the consequences of his failure.

Either way, el fenomeno would face the consequences for his actions. One way or another, the boy was going to die, and Popeye knew that he would be the one to pull the trigger. His palms grew sweaty with anticipation at the thought.

The real question was: would the freak be able to take care of Dulce before he did.   

NIghtmare rested comfortably in his seat, eyes closed, pretending to be asleep. He enjoyed seeing Popeye so angry. The man's anger was palpable, radiating off him in waves. He could feel it, even sitting across the aisle, as he basked in the glow of delicious fury.

However, during this moment of relative tranquility, Nightmare let his guard down, allowing his thoughts to drift back to when he was a different person than he was now. The mental barriers he had so painstakingly erected to prevent exactly that momentarily eroded, forcing him to reflect on his previous You are not allowed to view links. Register or Login this power was not a gift, but a curse, all due to an unfortunate and tragic encounter with the Demon Lord of Fear known as D'Spayre.

Prior to that,  he was a completely different person. He was merely Brian Rodgers, son of James and Susan, brother to Tara. His perfect and carefree life, with loving and supportive parents and a kind and generous older sibling, had been destroyed by the soul-crushing demon. The agonizing reality t was that he himself had unwittingly brought the demon upon them all. The monster had somehow been inexorably drawn by his own gut-wrenching fear of losing his family. The horrific irony pained him too much to give it more than a fleeting thought.

Even now, he could hear the creak of the leather armrest as his fingers dug into it like the claws of a vulture into the tender flesh of a rat. He expelled the heart-rending results of their fate from his head, not allowing himself to go down that path again. He would not let himself remember the time when his perfect life was shattered , lest he drown in a tidal wave of crippling guilt.

Now, he knew all too well of the allure of this power as he was helpless to resist its sickening appeal. He was the one sustained by the fear, pain, and misery of others; however, he would not allow his own inner conflicts and agonies to contribute to it. He didn't need to. Not when he could feed off all of the powerful, negative emotions that emanated from every person alive...

...especially the one currently sitting across from him on his journey to the south.

Popeye leaned his back against the airplane window, his frame blocking the early morning sun that lit half the plane with its amber glow. He stared at the sleeping figure across the aisle from him, eyes blazing with murderous intent.

"Motherfucker," he murmured under his breath over and over again as he pointed his revolver at Nightmare. Popeye fingered the cylinder longingly as he spun it, contemplating whether to simply end his charge now and make up some sort of convincing lie to tell Pablo.  Never one to exhibit even a modicum of self-control, the many rounds of tequila he'd consumed further compromised his already questionable judgment. Popeye was more than a little tempted. No one messed with him and lived. He'd killed many for much less.

Popeye felt confident that he could come up with a reasonable explanation to Pablo as to why he had to put a bullet in this freak's brain. Senõr Escobar had to know that the combustible combination of two well-practiced killers was as likely to result in at least one death as it was safe passage. Knowing Pablo, he might even have intended for one of them to off the other. Were these typical times, he would assume this was Pablo testing him, ensuring that he was still the best possible man for the position. But these were unusual times. That Dulce woman was something new entirely. Something that Popeye's methods could not handle. How did one do physical harm to a creature that was beyond such things? No, that was something that Nightmare brought to the table that Popeye could not. Mental warfare.

"Do it," a familiar voice called out suddenly from the shadows across the aisle, startling Popeye from his reverie. He had thought his potential victim was sleeping!

Quickly disguising his surprise in a sneer, Popeye leaned forward to look at the other man. With the movement, a ray of sunlight flashed over his shoulder, spraying across the aisle like a golden spotlight, illuminating Nightmare's face like he was a performer on a stage.

"Excuse me?" Popeye hissed as he gathered himself. His tone practically dripped with malice, leaving no doubt that this would not be a pleasant conversation.

"I said 'do it'," the shadowy figure repeated in a calm, firm tone, without a hint of fear or worry. "Or are you too afraid...mi amigo?"

His purposeful, sarcastic emphasis on the last two words meant to ignite the short fuse inside his irrational companion's tiny brain. The idiodic henchman actually thought that pointing a gun at him could accomplish something. He intended to show the hapless moron just how wrong he was.

"Are you challenging me, freak?" Popeye responded, spittle flying from his lips. With a loud click, he snapped the cylinder in place. With another, he cocked the hammer of his revolver, eyes blazing with uncontrollable fury as they stared the strange boy down through the iron sights. His already simmering rage rapidly approaching a torrid boil. Never had he been as angry as he was right now.

Nightmare merely laughed in response. "If I were you, I wouldn't presume that anything you think you can do to me would present even the tiniest challenge."

The strange boy raised his index finger to his temple and closed his eyes. Something at the center of his forehead began to swell. Barely noticeable at first, it quickly grew larger. After a few more pulses of disgusting growth, it became apparent to Popeye that it was discolored somehow. Dark and undulating under his pale skin.

Another second passed, Popeye's anger beginning to fade, replaced by perverse curiosity as the lump suddenly became identifiable as a large, black vein.  Frozen in rapt fascination, Popeye's head tilted to the side.

The vein was beginning to resemble a serpent's body emerging from the ivory sand that was his pallid skin. As another moment passed, it began to look as if it were about to burst from the center of his head, coating Popeye⁠—and the entire interior of the plane⁠—with sticky, black blood. 

"You think that you are in control of me," Nightmare said softly, that strange vein now pulsating violently above his closed eyes. "You think that I am not truly your guest, but your prisoner," Nightmare breathed. For the first time, he allowed a touch of mischief to color his words, merely to show the contempt in which he held the stupid Colombian. "But nothing could be further from the truth."

Popeye's eyes widened in horror as his hand began to shake⁠—slightly at first, but the erratic movements quickly grew more pronounced. The gun wobbled back and forth as sweat beaded on his tanned forehead. Why couldn't he hold the gun steady?!

"You are my prisoner." Nightmare's eyelids snapped open. The black gaze that bore into Popeye's eyes was more frightening than anything he'd ever witnessed. The Colombian quickly averted his eyes, unable to take more than a split second of eye contact with the disturbing sight. It was as if the boy's pupils had become direct conduits to the deepest, darkest pits of hell.

The intensity of Popeye's shaking steadily increased, despite Popeye's best efforts to stop it. He could barely keep the weapon from flying from his fingers. He willed himself to pull the trigger, only to be met with a surge of absolute horror that bubbled from his knotting stomach. Popeye's eyes went wide, his eyelashes trembling uncontrollably as he was literally paralyzed with fear.

The satisfied smirk that blossomed across Nightmare's lips was hair-raising. "I can make you terrified of the trigger to your own gun."

"Quivering with fear, Popeye glanced at the trigger, feeling another chill race up his spine. He began to hyperventilate. As his heart began to thunder in his chest, tears began to well in his terrified eyes.

"Or, if you'd rather, I could tap into that exquisite guilt of yours. All those juicy little fears of being powerless to help your sweet little Esmerita from drowning." Nightmare's eyes flashed wickedly. "Maybe funnel that into a certain desire to take your own life."

Popeye gasped, tears now streaming down his twitching cheeks to his trembling lips. He knew what he had to do. His fingers tightened around the grip of the revolver, quaking hand drawing back as the barrel slowly turned. A moment later, he felt cold steel press to his temple, his index finger slowly sliding toward the trigger.

Now, it wasn't the trigger that was so frightening, it was the thought of continuing to live under the weight of his sister's death. It was simply too heavy. Too overwhelming. A choked sob issued from between slobbery lips as he realized that he simply couldn't go on.

Nightmare rose from his seat and crossed the aisle. He stood above Popeye, staring down at him with those hollow eyes as his fingertip settled into place and began to squeeze. "I've been inside your head, Popeye. I know each and every one of your fears as if they were my best friend. I know your sorrows. I know your guilt." He leaned forward, his voice dropping to a whisper. "I know how close you were to doing exactly what you're doing right now in the aftermath of what happened."

Popeye wailed agony that he'd long suppressed. Somehow all the pain from that day was back, stronger than ever before. Pain and horror erupted out of him, threatening to shred his tortured soul into guilt-ridden pieces.

"What if this time, you simply can't take it?" Nightmare's voice was barely audible now, yet it seemed to slither into his ears like the airy hiss of a deadly viper, too insidious to even attempt to ignore. "What if this time, you decide to simply end the misery?"

Popeye hated that fucking boy⁠—but he knew he was right. It would be so much better to end the pain. So much better to simply dive into the ocean of oblivion. The end seemed to invite him, the thought of an end to this torturous existence a siren's song beckoning to him. His last ounce of willpower fading away, he felt Nightmare's cool fingertips on his forearm as he pulled the trigger.

But nothing happened.

Popeye blinked. Suddenly, the plane was gone. Nightmare was gone. The gun was gone. He looked around, but could see nothing. Nothing but blackness.

"Welcome to my prison," a deeper, more commanding version of Nightmare's voice echoed about him. It seemed to come from everywhere at once.

"God help me!" Popeye screamed, dropping to his knees as his hands rose in a tremulous plea. "Just leave me the fuck alone! Just let me fucking die!"

His voice was a desperate shriek. Tears streamed down his face, dripping off his trembling chin. He was a broken shell of a man, too powerless, even, to end his own miserable existence. He collapsed the rest of the way onto the ground, prone body curling into a fetal position.

Then, suddenly, the guilt, the pain, the torture⁠—it was all gone. Well, not gone entirely, but it was as if a blanket had been thrown over it, covering it from his view, insulating him from it all, keeping it away from him. An instant later, his previous surroundings painted themselves over his field of vision. He was back in the plane, Nightmare lording over him.

"But what good would it do to give you what your subconscious so desperately desires?" the pale-faced boy mused. "If I let you off so easily, I would lose my newest toy, now, wouldn't I? And you are so much fun to play with..."

Popeye whimpered, crumpled in his seat as Nightmare returned to his previous reclined position and closed his eyes once again, long fingers interlacing over his slim stomach.

***   
There was an awkward silence as the two men continued their journey, staring blankly ahead as they drove through the jungle. It tended to happen when guys discussed topics like whether or not one was getting laid. The uncomfortable discussion did, however, force Bruce to contemplate how the hell he hadn't gotten laid as the Hulk⁠—especially now that he was finally in full control of his monstrous alter-ego. Thankfully, it had distracted him from dwelling any further on the Dulce and Betty conundrum that had been swirling about in his head.   

"Soooo, they call you 'Smart Hulk' now?" Johnson asked. He was not one to be quiet for more than a minute or two, regardless of the situation.

"Huh?" Bruce replied distractedly, his mind still preoccupied with their previous topic.

"I said, they're calling you 'Smart Hulk' now. I saw it on Sixty Minutes a few months back."

"Yeah, I guess that's what they're calling me now," he answered, surprised that Agent Johnson would even watch a show like Sixty Minutes. Bruce had him figured for a 'Dukes of Hazzard' kind of guy.

"What did they call you before that? 'Dumb Hulk'?" the curious DEA agent asked, once again exhibiting an uncanny ability to unintentionally insult others.

"No, just 'Hulk'. Or 'The Incredible Hulk'," he replied, placing a heavy emphasis on 'Incredible'. "But I didn't really remember anything when I transformed. The green guy took over, so I wasn't too concerned about what the hell anyone was calling me back then."

"Gotcha, makes sense," Agent Johnson responded with a goofy grin. He felt proud of himself, like he was making a real breakthrough in their burgeoning friendship.

"What about your pants? Do you ever grow out of them? Man, seems like you have to, seeing's how small you are now, and how big you get when you⁠—"

"Really? That's what you're worried about?" Bruce cut him off, dumbfounded at the type of thoughts that occupied this guy's brain. No wonder we're losing the war on drugs, Bruce thought, cringing at the idea of a bunch of guys like Agent Johnson running around South America looking to get drunk and laid instead of doing their jobs.

"What? Is that so crazy to ask? I'm just picturing you getting all angry, hulking out, really trying to intimidate the bad-guy you're about to fight, you know? You grow out of all your clothes, and then you're just sitting there with your big, green dick hanging out, flapping in the breeze." Agent Johnson motioned before his crotch, as if to outline something the size of an elephant's trunk coming out of his hips. As he mimed the gigantic phallus, he began to laugh. "And if they didn't have the good sense to be freaked out by a big green mountain of muscles, you'll at least manage to stoke some serious penis-envy."

Bruce gave a wry chuckle, shaking his head. He couldn't help but laugh at the juvenile thought-process of this guy. It was like the man's brain had never left his college fraternity house and moved on to adulthood⁠. He seemed to view life through the lense of a frat boy, happy-go-lucky and looking to get laid.

"Yeah, I'm sure that probably happened a couple of times," Bruce admitted with a furtive glance, unsure if it was true, but figuring that was what his driving partner wanted to hear.

"I knew it!" Agent Johnson responded enthusiastically, pumping his fist in the air, feeling like he was getting an inside scoop that no one else knew. "And what if you saw some hot chick and got an erection. I mean, Christ! You'd probably be able to fly a flag from that th⁠—"

Bruce rolled his eyes, though was unable to keep from smiling at his companion's antics. "Buddy, don't take this the wrong way, but you seem to be pretty preoccupied with sex," Bruce said matter of factly. "Not that there's anything wrong with that. Just stating the obvious here."

Agent Johnson nodded in vigorous affirmation. "You're damn right about that. There's three things that get me up every morning," he held three fingers up to accentuate his point. "Sex, drinking, and my goddamn job. I'm great at all three, and I try to combine them any chance I get!" The megawatt smile that grew across his lips could have lit up a billboard.

Bruce shook his head and laughed. At least he wasn't disappointed or bored. This guy was a complete caricature of what he thought a DEA agent in South America would be like. In fact, he exceeded even the corniest image Bruce could have ever come up with in every way possible.

"Speaking of your job," Bruce asked, pleased that Agent Johnson had unwittingly provided the perfect segue for him to shift the direction of  the conversation. "How do you want to handle things when we arrive at Dulce's?"

Agent Johnson's smile faded, his expression growing more thoughtful. He had given this some thought. "When we get there, you need to Hulk-out." The agent tried to suppress a fresh smile as his mind returned to a familiar location⁠—the gutter. "And try to keep your pants on when you do, okay big guy? Dulce is smokin' hot, so we don't need to risk any flagpole-sized distractions."

"I'll do my best," Bruce replied, laughing partly to play along with Johnson and partly because he simply couldn't help himself. Archibald was rather amusing. Besides, he wanted to see where the other man was going with this.

"Just remember: I'm the brains and you're the brawn," Agent Johnson responded, eager to get into his master plan.

"Is that so?" Bruce chuckled. "I'm guessing that you didn't know that I am a nuclear physicist. I went to Harvard, have seven PhDs, and most people call me Doctor Bruce Banner." 

He allowed the information to sink in for a moment before continuing. "It would be more accurate to say that I'm the brains and the brawn."   

The agent ran his fingers through his thick, full head of hair, exhaling in defeat. He couldn't argue with his partner's logic. Luckily, however, he had a trump card that Bruce knew nothing about.

"Well, I guess you've got me there. I guess my role would be the lover, then, huh? You know, seeing how I get some, and you, well, don't." He arched an eyebrow at Doctor Banner before laying his winning hand on the table. "Have I ever mentioned that I slept with Dulce?" Archibald leaned back in his seat, a smug smile painted over his lips as he eyed Bruce for his reaction. "Yeah. That's right. She and I had quite the time. I mean, she was screaming and⁠—"

Bruce squeezed the steering wheel so hard that it nearly snapped under even his human strength. "I got it. No need for the play by play,"  he hissed through clenched teeth. How on earth had a woman as staggeringly intelligent and heartbreakingly gorgeous as Dulce done the deed with this hapless bastard? And why did she always seem so antagonistic toward Bruce? Did she really prefer the frat-boyish DEA agent over him?

He mulled over the question in his mind as Johnson shot him a superior wink. "Sorry, Mr. Brains and Brawn. I must have hit a sore spot there, huh? Funny how some things can still penetrate even the thickest and greenest of hides."

Bruce flashed Agent Johnson a sarcastic smile. "Let's hear your plan. If it gets your mind on something other than sex, I'll consider that a hell of an accomplishment."

Agent Johnson grinned. "I'll tell you my plan. But why you think it won't involve sex, I have no idea. After all, since you have no skill with the fairer sex, it'll have to be this guy that does all the flirting with Dulce's MILFy mom." He shoved two thumbs toward his chest.

Bruce rolled his eyes yet again. He might have to revise his earlier estimation of the man. He was a bit of an ass⁠—though Bruce supposed it was his own fault. He had brought it out, after giving Johnson no credit in either the brains and brawn department. Sex was all the man had left. Bruce had walked into that one.

"Why do you need to chat up her mom?" Bruce asked.

"Well someone's got to figure out how she took Abomination's powers, right? And do you really think you're going to get Dulce to just come out and tell you how she did it? Sorry to say it, but you yourself told me she pretty much chewed you up and spat you out in your last conversation. Besides, these Colombian women tell their mothers everything. It's part of the whole multigenerational household thing or something. I don't know. What I do know is that if we can't get the info from Dulce herself, her mother Gabriella is our best shot." Agent Johnson shrugged. "Hence, the master of seduction must hunt some new prey."

Until that last comment, Bruce was actually impressed by the man's reasoning. But, as with everything else, he had to turn it into some kind of sex thing. "That actually makes sense."

The DEA agent grinned. "And I thought you said you were supposed to be the brains of our little operation."

"Okay, I grant you half a brain," Bruce grudgingly agreed. "But if she doesn't know?"

"Then I'll find out whatever she does know," said Johnson, licking his lips. "Women'll say anything in the bedroom if you get them distracted enough."

"You're seriously going to proposition Dulce's mom." Bruce shook his head.

"Of course! Comes with the territory, my friend. Whatever it takes to get the job done."

"Then, we'll need to figure out a way to remove Dulce's powers. I doubt Gabriella is going to help you with that."

"Why do we need to remove her powers?" asked Johnson, honestly confused.

"Well, we can't just have a super-powerful drug queen running around South America can we?" Bruce couldn't understand why Agent Johnson would question him. "Isn't that the whole reason I'm here?"

"You're here so that we're on equal footing, but I'm not seeing why we need to take away her powers. Hell, she's the perfect person to have them!"

Bruce gaped at the man. A DEA agent couldn't seriously be considering letting a drug lord run completely wild with nearly infinite power.

"Think about it. Since she took over the cartel, there has been minimal violence. No murders. The area surrounding her cartel is the most stable it's ever been. She's using her power to improve her community. Quite the change from the usual drug lord M.O. I say we leave a good thing be."

"In my experience, those with power just crave even more power. Look at the cold war we're in right now. The U.S. gets the atom bomb, then Russia gets it. So the U.S. builds fusion bombs. Then, Russia does too. It's just bound to escalate until it gets out of hand. If anything, this situation with Dulce is even more out of hand. Without us, there's nothing to keep her in check. At least the U.S. has elections, and the Soviets have their party structure. Where's the check and balance on Dulce?"

"I think you've got it all wrong, my friend," said Agent Johnson. "Dulce isn't the one I'm trying to keep in check here. It's Pablo fucking Escobar."

Bruce looked at him blankly.

"You see, Dulce is the check and balance against Escobar." Agent Johnson continued, now dead serious.

"Come on," Bruce scoffed. "You can't possibly think that Escobar can compete with a Hulk-level super."

"Don't underestimate this guy, Bruce. I've seen what he does to his competitors. He's not just going to sit on the sidelines while Dulce takes bite after bite out of what he sees as his cake. He's going to react, and whatever he has up his sleeve, I guarantee you, it's gonna be bad."

Bruce glanced at his companion again. He'd never seen the man so serious. Maybe he needed to brush up more on this Escobar guy. "I'm impressed. You really have given this whole situation some serious thought."

Agent Johnson grinned, tapping his temple with his index finger. "See? I can think with this head too."

Bruce couldn't suppress a smile, he couldn't believe it, but he was actually beginning to like the guy. "Okay, how about this. You work on Dulce's mom..."

"Oh, I intend to work on her alright," Johnson wiggled his eyebrows.

"Good God, man. Focus here!" Bruce admonished. "You talk to Gabriella, and I poke my nose around the compound. See if I can get any of her other subordinates to talk. Maybe with a little green encouragement."

"You mean big green encouragement. Just no flagpoles, man, alright? We don't need to scare those poor guys like that. Or the women, for that matter."

Bruce rolled his head back, praying for patience with his one-track partner. "You are somethin' else, bud."

"...and that's exactly what all the ladies say." Johnson laced his fingers behind his head, almost satisfied with their plan. One other thought, however, nagged at him.

"Let me ask you this, big guy: if we find a way to remove Dulce's powers, what about you? Would you have your powers removed as well? I mean right now, you're 'Smart Hulk', but what would happen if you ever lose control of this power again? There is no one to stop you either. You ever think about that?"

Bruce sighed. He had thought about this. Many, many times. In fact, for a time, it was all he could ever think about. It had consumed every waking moment of his existence. After his accident, it was all he ever wanted—to have a normal life and be able to be with Betty.

In a quiet voice, Bruce finally replied to his partner's question. "When this first happened to me, whenever I was myself and not 'The Big Guy", all I did was try to find a way to cure myself." Bruce found himself opening up to Archibald as he had never done with anyone else. "But now that I'm the one in control, I've been able to do a lot of good. Help a lot of people. Stop a lot of bad, bad people."

"Man, it sounds like a burden to me. It must feel like you've got the weight of the world on your shoulders. I guess it's a good thing they're so broad," the skeptical agent replied, not entirely convinced that the man was doing this for entirely altruistic reasons. "You sure a part of it isn't because you just like having all of this power?"

Bruce began to simmer. Who was this guy to question his motives? But truthfully, he wasn't wrong. If he were being honest with himself, he did enjoy having this power. It was more than a little empowering. Hell, it could be exhilarating at times. Even somewhat addictive.   

"I can't say that being the Hulk doesn't come with some perks, that it isn't enjoyable, but I have a responsibility to help people because of these powers," Bruce declared in measured tones. "Unfortunately, there are a lot of evil people out there with powers, and more and more seem to pop up every day. Someone needs to protect the innocent people that can't protect themselves, and I can't think of a person better equipped to do that than me."

If that sounded self-serving, he didn't care. It was the truth.     

"And what if these innocent people you're trying to protect get hurt or killed while you're out there fighting these evil people with superpowers? Do you just chalk that up to collateral damage? I mean, I've seen footage of the aftermath of some of these fights—cars and buildings completely destroyed. I'm sure they aren't vacant. There must be casualties along the way."

Bruce stared at the man, stunned at how quickly their conversation had turned from lighthearted and sophomoric to intense and serious. Especially when it was instigated by Agent Johnson, of all people.

"I think I liked you better when you were talking about trying to get laid," Bruce replied, trying to change the direction of the conversation back to its previous tone. He wasn't mentally prepared to be this self-reflective. Not right now. His hands were full enough trying to prepare for Dulce.

"Although that is my favorite topic," Agent Johnson said with a wink before his expression grew more serious once again. "It's important for me to see what makes you tick. See where your head's at. We could be walking into a lion's den here, and I want to make sure you've got my back. I need to know that when it comes down to it, you'll do the right thing."

The hairs on the back of his neck rising, Bruce wasn't sure he liked where this was headed. "What do you mean 'do the right thing?"

A look swept across Agent Johnson's face. It was an expression Bruce had not seen before. Not from him, anyway. It was deadly serious⁠—a little frightening actually⁠—and it painted the DEA agent in a different light, bringing clarity to the exact meaning of his statement. Bruce was staring into the eyes of a man that would not hesitate to take another's life if it meant saving his own, or protecting someone he cared about.

"I think you know what I mean," he replied, meeting Bruce's gaze directly. Neither his voice nor his eyes wavered in the slightest.

Bruce thought about the implications of what the agent was saying. He had never intentionally taken another person's life, and he wasn't sure if he was prepared to start now, regardless of the situation they were about to face.

"Let's hope it doesn't come to that," Bruce replied somberly. His insides twisted into a knot as the uncertainty of this situation gnawed at his gut.

"It's a good thing I'm a one-man nuclear deterrent," Bruce continued defiantly. Hopefully that would put an end to the conversation

Agent Johnson nodded his head in agreement. "That you are my friend, that you are. But I'm afraid we're about to face a one-woman nuclear arsenal greater than you. And if you intend to try and take her powers away, you need to be prepared for one sexy little nuke to explode right in your face."

Bruce didn't bother to respond. There was nothing left to be said. He knew how his first meeting with Dulce had gone, and he was determined to have a decidedly different outcome this time around.

They drove on in silence as they approached the estate, lush palm trees lining both sides of the winding dirt road. Bruce welcomed the reprieve, never expecting to have to grapple with such weighty considerations. As the two men sat, each lost in his own thoughts, the warm air of the tropical climate caused them to lightly perspire. Both men contemplated what the outcome of this day would be, unsure who would walk away from it. 

"Get your mind right, Bruce, we're two minutes out," Agent Johnson stated suddenly, breaking the awkward silence of the past few minutes.  He pulled a Glock out from his rear pocket and looked over at Bruce, loading the chamber with practiced ease. "Just in case."

Bruce didn't respond, he just stared ahead, suddenly even more uncomfortable than he had been just minutes before. He wouldn't let things get out of hand. He was an Avenger for Christ's sake. Dulcewas just a woman, even if she had gamma powers similar to his. He had taken on beings with cosmic powers and come out on top every time.

"You won't need it," he responded confidently. "I got your back."

Agent Johnson smiled, his normal joviality returning as he punched Bruce lightly in the shoulder. "That's just what I wanted to hear, big guy. Now let's go take care of this shit once and for all."

Bruce laughed, the mutual tension evaporating in an instant.

"I'll tell you what, once this is over, you and me are going back to that bar. And this time, we're going to see if you can keep up with me, but you can't turn into the big guy. You gotta stay like this," he jabbed a finger into Bruce's chest. "Deal?"

Bruce smiled back at him, wishing he was sitting in that bar right now. It sounded far more inviting than whatever he was about to face at this drug cartel compound in the middle of the jungle. "Deal!"


***

As the front door to the hacienda opened, Bruce's jaw literally dropped. His gaze rose from the thick neck that lay directly in front of his eyes to meet those of Dulce's mousy assistant⁠—an assistant that could hardly be described as 'mousy' anymore.

"Dr. Banner! It's so good to see you!" she greeted, stepping aside to allow the two men entrance.

"Wha-" Bruce started, still struggling to come to grips with the fact that Dulce's assistant's head seemed to be affixed to a far larger, far more muscular body. "H-how?"

Camila was unable to suppress a grin. "Do you like my little upgrade?"

"I sure as hell do!" Agent Johnson piped in, leaning out from behind the physicist to unabashedly admire Camila's far larger breasts.

Camila's smile grew wider. "Right this way, gentlemen." She began to walk inside the foyer of the hacienda, her hips swaying more than usual as if to draw the men's gazes to her sculpted ass. Intended or not, it worked. Bruce stood frozen in place, gaping at the young woman as she spun in place, gesturing toward two seats.

Bruce nodded dumbly, still standing at the door as his mind whirred through what he was seeing⁠—and the possibilities it could mean. Could Dulce transform the bodies of others at will?

"Bruce?" Agent Johnson prompted, taking the surprise in stride. His skills as an agent had taught him to roll with events no matter how surprising. Bruce's mind worked differently, processing the myriad possibilities that physical transformation on demand could offer. He was fully preoccupied by the mental gymnastics involved in deciphering the implications of what he was seeing.

Thinking quickly, Archibald stepped around his colleague, whispering "Bruce?" again out of the corner of his mouth as he nudged the other man forward with his shoulder. The combination had the desired effect, snapping Bruce out of his thoughts.

"Uh, yes," he said, stepping forward into the waiting area and taking the offered seat. 


Once both men were seated, Camila spoke once more. "I imagine you're here to see Dulce, so I'll go see what she's up to," she said, the corners of her lips turning upward in a sly smile as she walked away. Clearly, she was enjoying the effect of her new physique on Bruce and Agent Johnson.

Once she left the room, Bruce turned to his colleague, speaking in hushed tones. "Do you see what happened to Dulce's assistant? It seems that Dulce is somehow able to give powers to others as well as herself. Maybe she didn't take all of Abomination's power? Maybe she's giving some of it to others?"

Johnson shrugged. "Unless she can transform anyone she wants now..."

"Don't be ridiculous. It's not like it's easy to create massive quantities of gamma radiation. It has to come from somewhere. It's constantly flowing through the atmosphere but not in quantities that would be able to do anything like that." Bruce's eyes turned thoughtful. "No, she has to be using what she extracted from Abomination. There's no other way."

"Whatever you say, Brains," Johnson said wryly. "Why don't you just give that skull of yours a rest and wait for me to work my magic and get it out of mama?"

"Well, with this much at stake, I'm not going to leave anything to chance. I'm going to question everyone I can too. We have to understand how she's doing this!"

"Knock yourself out." The DEA agent shrugged as Bruce rose to his feet, muscles expanding as his skin turned green. "I'm just going to worry about one knockout at a time."

Annoyed by Agent Johnson's cavalier attitude about what could amount to a veritable superhuman army under the control of a Colombian drug lord, Bruce, now fully transformed, turned. Camila stood there, startled as her eyes rose to meet his. Bruce couldn't help but smile as her wide eyes narrowed with resolve.

"I'm so sorry, but Miss Dulce won't be able to see the two of you right now," she announced, hands coming to rest on her hips.

Agent Johnson was instantly on his feet. He straightened his clothes, flashing Camila his best reassuring smile. "It's okay, Camila. I'm actually here to see Gabriella, not Dulce. Is she around?"

Camila blinked in surprise. "Mrs. Gabriella? But she⁠—" Camila paused, regrouping. "I'm not sure. Stay here while I check."

"That won't be necessary. I mean, it's not like you have to tell Dulce every little thing, right? How about we make this our little secret?" He placed a hand on her well-muscled arm.

"What are you doing, sir?" Camila said, glancing down at where his hand rested on her. "Miss Dulce is my boss. Of course, I'm going to inform her of your intentions."

Agent Johnson's smile flickered for a moment before returning full-force. "Look, Camila. I appreciate what you're trying to do, but it's not really like you have any choice in the matter. I know you're probably feeling on top of the world after all of this..." He gestured down her substantially enhanced frame. "...but I seriously doubt you could handle me, let alone the big guy over there." He hooked a thumb at his partner. "So let's save us all some time and just pretend that we just came inside your little hacienda here and that there wasn't a damn thing that you could do about it. Capiche?"

Camila's eyes narrowed further. "So you doubt I can handle you, huh?" Her hands came off her hips, breaking Agent Johnson's grip on her forearm with ease. She grabbed him by the shoulders, holding him in place.

Agent Johnson's smile remained in place as he attempted to pull out of her grip and push past her. Except that he couldn't.

His smile faltered. "Didn't you hear what I just said?" he asked, his struggles growing more vigorous. Still, he couldn't seem to twist out of her grip.

"Oh, I heard exactly what you just said," said Camila, eyes twinkling as she tested her newfound strength against that of a fitter than average man for the first time. "But I think that you're in for a surprise."

Now the agent tried with all his might to pull out of her grip. He grabbed both of her hands, and tried to pry them loose.

It was no use. It was as if her muscles were made of iron. Very warm, very silky iron.

Agent Johnson's heart fluttered as he realized that she was stronger than he was⁠—and it wasn't particularly close. His eyes softened, lips forming a sheepish smile as he spoke in a breathless voice. "I don't suppose you're willing to take a bribe, are you? I've got an American $20 bill with your name written all over it..."

"Here," said Bruce, amused by his partner's struggles. "Let me save you some time. And money." He lifted a huge green hand, reached over to Camila's head, gently plucked her off the floor and set her to the side, her grip falling away from the embarrassed DEA agent.

Camila gaped at him, her expression one of awe mixed with more than a little envy.

"I'm going to talk to some of the others inside. Figure out what's going on," said Bruce. Before Archibald could respond, he hurried away, disappearing down the hallway.

Agent Johnson eyed Camila warily. "I'm just going to find something to drink. No need to worry about me..." With that, he sprinted down the hall after Bruce. When he looked behind him, he saw Dulce's amazonian assistant giving chase. "Shit!" he panted.

Immediately after rounding a corner, he darted into the nearest room, quickly and quietly shutting the door behind him. As footsteps clacked by outside, he heard a voice from behind him. "What are you doing here?"

He whirled to find Gabriella, already transformed, towering above him.

Archibald swallowed hard, laughing nervously. "Gabriella! Just the woman I wanted to see!" He quickly recovered from his surprise, however, his manner growing smooth once again. He knew that he would need to tell Bruce about this latest development. With another big, green woman running around, it was now clear. Dulce wasn't simply sharing small portions of Abomination's powers. She had some way of producing gamma rays in sufficient quantities to create yet another Hulk-level woman that they didn't yet understand.

Gabriella looked surprised⁠—and a little flattered. "You wanted to see me?! I would have thought. I mean, I thought that you and my daughter..." She trailed off.

"While I adore your daughter," said Johnson, sliding forward a step. "She's young and inexperienced. Not to mention that I think she's a little infatuated by my partner, Bruce." He shrugged, carefully scanning the room for anything of interest as he spoke. "It's probably for the best. I tend to prefer women who are a bit further along life's little journey, anyway."

"Here," the agent continued, extending a hand toward the nearby loveseat. "Why don't we both have a seat?"

Gabriella looked uncertain for a moment, then finally let her shoulders relax. With a soft sigh, she sat down. She had nothing to fear, not in this form, and she was curious what this man had to say. The couch creaked under her weight as she settled in.

Agent Johnson quickly joined her, his million-dollar smile returning full force. "I must say: the family resemblance is uncanny. I can see where Dulce gets her looks."

Gabriella laughed, appearing amused by his endearing words. "While I appreciate the comment, Dulce has her father's eyes. They are what makes her so stunning."

Agent Johnson inched closer to the huge woman on the love seat, his eyes softening empathetically. "Ah, yes. Her father. My condolences."

Gabriella waved away his sentiment. "It's okay. It's been years." Her eyes grew wistful. "Too many years. He would be so proud of her if he could see her now, though. She takes after him in many ways, you know."

"Oh, I'm sure," said Agent Johnson, scooching a bit closer until his knee nearly touched the side of her well-muscled thigh. "To produce a daughter as composed as she is, he must have been quite a man. Even more telling is that he was able to woo a woman like you into marrying him." His eyes sparkled as he found honeyed words coming easily to his tongue in Gabriella's presence.

"But it is obvious that Dulce isn't merely her father's daughter. She takes after you as well. I mean, she's almost as beautiful as you are⁠—and that really saying something. I don't think I've ever seen a woman with your unique combination of experience, attractiveness, and, well..." His gaze slowly descended her phenomenal physique. "...shape."

He almost cringed, knowing it hadn't been the right word. Unfortunately, he had been unable to come up with anything better just then.

Gabriella laughed, the sound truly melodic to Archibald's ears. "Shape, eh? I was about to call you a flatterer until you chose that particular description. I'm not sure whether I should be flattered or toss you out of my room right now."

Agent Johnson didn't skip a beat. He shrugged. "I just say what I think. I've never been much of a charmer," he lied, placing his fingertips on her sculpted thigh. "Truth be told, I love how muscles look on a woman. On your daughter, yes, but especially on you." That part wasn't a lie. "But I truly hope that you don't throw me out of your room. To my mind your shape is perfect. In either form. If you throw me out, how will I bring any more of those gorgeous smiles to those perfect lips of yours?"

Gabriella beamed wickedly. "Now, I'm certain that I should throw you out of my room."

Johnson's smile didn't waiver, his eyes flicking upward to meet hers after another moment spent admiring her powerful body. "I don't think you will. In fact, I think you like having me here."

Gabriella laughed again, throwing her head back as she relaxed into the cushions. "You do have a point there."

"Of course, I do," he said, sliding his fingers further over the surface of her leg as he shifted even closer. Now, their hips were touching as well. Gabriella's superhumanly firm flesh felt warm against his, even through their clothes. "We both know that I pose no danger to you. I can feel how hard your muscles are."

"And I can see how hard your..." She glanced down at his crotch, softly clearing her throat as her nefarious smile widened. "... is."

Agent Johnson smirked. "Well, they don't call me Agent Johnson for nothing."

This time, Gabriella laughed so hard that she nearly shook apart the small loveseat. "You are too funny, little gringo."

"And you are too beautiful," he continued, smoothly as ever. "May I ask how you gained the ability to become so incredible?" He winked, making the double entendre clear.

Gabriella's eyes turned sly, flashing mischievously. "It was a gift. From my daughter."

"That's quite a gift!" said Archibald, carefully directing the conversation toward the information he needed. "Not exactly the kind of thing you can buy at the mall."

"You're right about that," Gabriella agreed. "Dulce is a young woman of many talents."

Agent Johnson grinned. "You're right about that. I have no doubt that you are just as talented." His eyes again drifted admiringly down her spectacular body. Despite the fact that he was attempting to play her, his attraction was genuine⁠—and increasingly difficult to hide. Not that he had any desire to hide it. In his experience, flattery was the easiest path to information where women were concerned. And while flattery came easily to his silver tongue, where Dulce and her mother were concerned, he actually meant every word of it.

Gabriella's viridian cheeks flushed pink, and she tossed lush waves of hair back. "Now, I know you're a flatterer."

"How can I not be? A woman as amazing as you? So close? It's surprising that words find room to come into my mind at all, given all of your many... distractions." He shifted, lifting himself from the seat of the couch to press his lips to hers. His kiss wasn't timid, but it was chaste. Primarily, it was meant to gauge her reaction. When she didn't return it, he allowed his eyes to open, lowering himself back to the cushions.

"I'm so sorry. I don't know what came over me. Aside from your beauty. And scent. And unbelievable muscles, of course." He recovered smoothly. The woman before him looked torn, like she wanted to kiss him back but wasn't sure whether she should.

"My scent?" Gabriella raised her wrist to her nose and sniffed, suddenly remembering where she had dabbed a bit of Dulce's perfume this morning.

"You smell wonderful. Like a meadow of flowers on a summer day," Agent Johnson replied with another smile. He knew he was close to seducing the woman, and having his goal within reach was proving every bit as intoxicating for him as it was for her.

"I do not know what to make of you, little gringo," said Gabriella, gazing thoughtfully back at him. "I can see that you are skilled with words, despite what you say. And that makes me think that I shouldn't trust you. But I can see why my daughter likes you."

"And I can see why she gave you such a gift," he said, drifting a fingertip over the swell of her powerful shoulder. I find myself wanting to find a gift to give you too." The smile his words brought to Gabriella's lips truly was intoxicating. "Alas, I don't think I can come up with something as unique. You don't know where Dulce came by her gift, do you?"

"I'm afraid I don't know much about it. You would have to ask Dr. Schlaukopf."

Bingo. "Dr. Schlaukopf?"

"Yes, that German scientist that my daughter works with."

Agent Johnson's eyes flickered with more than casual interest, despite his best intentions. He quickly suppressed it, however. "You'll have to introduce me sometime. In the meantime, I'm afraid I only have one gift to give, and I already⁠—"

Gabriella cut him off with a passionate kiss, pressing her firm body to his as the small loveseat groaned in protest. Her mouth pressed him backward until his back touched the armrest, her massive arms tensing as she walked her hands forward on either side of him.

When she finally broke the kiss, she was above him, the legs of the loveseat wobbling unsteadily.

Archibald said breathlessly, "Maybe we should move to the bed? I'm not sure this couch is going to⁠—"

"Shut up, little gringo," Gabriella said, grabbing a fistful of cloth in the center of his shirt and pulling him toward her. "It's been far too long since I was interested in a man. Even longer since I wanted one inside me." She devoured his lips with hers a second time, sending delicious prickles of sensual excitement through Agent Johnson's thoroughly stimulated body.

A moment later, the loveseat shuddered again. With a crack, its frame splintered apart. Gabriella's massive chest landed on that of the agent, her spectacular breasts so inhumanly firm that they quickly began to crush his chest to the point where it was difficult to breath. Never had asphyxiation felt so utterly glorious. By the time she lifted her body from his amidst the wreckage of the furniture, Agent Johnson was left gasping for air.

After two quick gulps of oxygen, however, he shrugged. A broad smile parting his lips, he reached back up for Gabriella, delighting in the feel of her hard muscles as his arms wrapped around her much larger form, and crushed his lips to hers once again.

***


In a completely different part of the compound, Bruce drew quickly to a halt. The man seated at the table before him looked vaguely familiar, but he couldn't quite place how he knew the man.

Then, suddenly, he had it. Geneva. He knew the man from the Geneva scientific conference on gamma radiation. He was how Dulce was doing all of this. He had to be!

Bruce's meaty green fingers curled into the lapels of the scientist's lab coat, and he lifted the diminutive man from his seat, slamming him into the wall to maximize the intimidation factor, though he was careful not to use so much force that he hurt the man. "I've already put together that you somehow stole Abomination's powers. Tell me how you did it! Are you transferring them to Dulce? To her assistant? Tell me what you've done, and maybe I won't have to haul you back to the States to stand trial."

The trembling scientist opened his mouth to speak, but before he could, a familiar voice sounded from the doorway. "Stand down, Bruce," hissed Dulce from between clenched teeth, dark eyes blazing with anger. Her slender fingers curled into fists at her sides.

Swiveling his thick neck until he faced her, Bruce met the sexy Latina's demand with defiance. "I will find out what I need to know, Dulce. You're not going to stop me. It's the whole reason I've come."

"I'll ask you one more time. Stand down. Let the good doctor go." The mocha skin around Dulce's furrowed brows began to take on a pale green hue as she took a step forward. "I won't ask again."

Bruce glanced at the scientist in his grasp before returning a level gaze to Dulce's furious eyes. "Tell me what I want to know, and I'll be on my way."

"Forever?" asked Dulce, her voice now dangerously quiet.

Bruce sighed, then shook his head. "I can't promise that."

"Then I'll make you leave," said Dulce, her voice growing deeper and richer as the sleeves of her blouse tightened over expanding biceps. She took another step forward, the fury in her eyes rising along with its level as she began to grow taller.

"I'd like to see you try," said Bruce, tossing the scientist aside. The man collapsed to the ground as he landed, then quickly scurried away from the huge green foes.

Dulce's breathing grew labored as her skin continued to change in hue, breaths puffing into and out of her flaring nostrils as if she were a seething bull, preparing to charge. "You should be careful what you wish for, Bruce."

A slow tearing sound accompanied her words as her sleeves gave way to the burgeoning swell of superhuman sinew. Shoulders the size of bowling balls burst out of her clothes. Bulging biceps and flexing triceps lurched into greater size and definition with every breath, deep striations sculpting themselves into inhumanly powerful arms.

Bruce watched the destroyed remnants of her sleeves drift to the floor even as thick thighs and expanding hips pulled apart the stitching along each side of her skirt. As her silky legs lengthened, they rippled with power, godlike strength flooding her sleek quads and smooth calves.

Never having seen a gamma-enhanced woman transform before, Bruce was in awe. Dulce's body remained remarkably feminine even as hundreds of kilos of ultra-dense muscle wound through her breathtaking physique, and Bruce found himself completely entranced, locked into place by paralyzing desire. He swallowed hard, sudden, overpowering need coursing through his viridian veins.

Dulce continued to approach him, her massive body hardening into chiseled perfection as she drew near. The bottom hem of Dulce's white blouse pulled free of a now skin-tight skirt, placing her exquisitely carved abs on breathtaking display. Her rapidly burgeoning bust sent buttons flying across the room to ricochet off the walls with clacking pings, leaving the prodigious swells of her breasts clothed in nothing but a torn, overtaxed bra and the vest-like shredded remains of her formerly loose-fitting blouse. The bra was gone a moment later, insufficient to the task of holding in her magnificent breasts. As it fell in pieces to the ground, taut green nipples poked through the thin fabric of what little was left of her top.

Before a very distracted Bruce could react, Dulce cocked a steely green fist, then launched it directly into Bruce's chin.

White-hot pain exploded through Bruce's jaw as he sailed through the ceiling. When his heavy body landed with a massive thud in the yard beyond the compound a moment later, all of the vehicles jumped, a noisy rustle rolling through the nearby trees.

Dulce landed on a ground before him a second later, the green amazon every bit as tall, muscled, and formidable as The Hulk she stood above. "It's nice to finally be able to cut loose with everything I've got," she breathed, the corners of her voluptuous lips curling upward even as she cracked her knuckles in anticipation of delivering more pain.

The massive woman stomped down on Bruce's crotch before he could rise, eliciting a howl of agony from him before she kicked him into the jungle like a soccer ball.

Bruce sailed into the trees, shattering dozens of trunks and branches before finally coming to a stop. He lay still for a moment, jaw clenched, blinking white fireworks of crippling pain from his eyes as he attempted to recover from the most painful strikes he had endured since battling Abomination.

Eventually, as he staggered to his feet, he noticed a bulge in his ragged pants. For the first time, he realized that the idea of a woman who could go toe-to-toe with The Hulk aroused him to no small degree. This gorgeous drug lord was possibly the only other being on the planet who could come close to matching his strength, and he found the notion more than a little exciting.

He shoved the newfound knowledge about his own desires into the back of his mind, however. He had a job to do, and the woman was standing in his way. Whatever he might think of the fierce Latina personally, however much he might be attracted to her, he needed to show her what happened to those who stood in his way.

As the pain in his crotch faded to a dull throb, his hands curled into fists. Hulk smash.

Letting loose a deafening roar, he launched himself forward, crashing through foliage and shattering tree trunks as he sprinted toward Dulce's last position. When he exploded out of the jungle, he grabbed the muscular amazon around her still-slender waist, twisted his body around and flung her like a shot put into a nearby jeep.

The vehicle crunched under the onslaught, the windshield shattering and passenger seat flipping over the steering wheel to bounce onto the ground. Dulce extracted herself from the crushed vehicle with a sly smile. "That's all you've got, Hulk? I must say, I'm rather disappointed."

Bruce's lips twitched into a frown. While he hadn't given the throw everything he had, he had never faced off against an adversary who could shrug off even half of his full strength. As Dulce stalked toward him, he decided to up his effort level to three-quarters of his full strength. He let loose a punch toward her face, cringing as he put so much power in a blow toward a woman. He really hoped he didn't seriously injure her. While she was in his way, he had no desire to cause any permanent damage.

To Bruce's utter astonishment, however, Dulce caught his fist mid-flight, flinging his hand to the side before launching a devastating series of blows to his unprepared stomach. Her fists pounded into his cobbled abs with impossible power, and the air whooshed from his shocked lungs.

Grabbing his hair, she pulled down, at the same time sending a steely knee into his mouth. Green blood splashed as Bruce's feet were flung upward from the ground, only Dulce's grip on his hair keeping him from being launched into orbit. Legs flailing in the air behind him, Dulce pulled downward as her leg returned to a standing position, sending Bruce's bloodied face into the dirt at her feet.

Bruce groaned as he rolled over, fearful of another foot stomp. Dulce, luckily, seemed to give him a reprieve. As The Hulk stumbled back to his feet, wiping his lips with the back of his hand, he marveled at her unbelievable strength. Desperately, he shoved Dulce away from him, sending her tumbling a few meters away in a bid to buy recovery time before he collapsed once again, his brain still attempting to recover from her brutal knee to the head.

He had thought that Dr. Schlaukopf may have given Dulce some of Abomination's power, saving the rest to boost her assistant and possibly others. Now, however, it was clear to him that the sexy young woman was every bit as powerful as his beastly foe had ever been. How she was enhancing the others, then, he had no idea, but she was clearly every bit his equal in terms of physical strength. Possibly more than merely his equal.


"Come on, Bruce, you're not even trying!" Dulce panted as she stormed toward him once again.

Bruce staggered to his feet, shaking the sparks from his vision. That woman could hit hard! Suddenly, a shadow blocked out the afternoon sun. His eyes rose to see a jeep descending from overhead, growing larger by the second.

Bruce raised his arms just in time, the slatted grill of the jeep crunching into his forearms and crumpling against him before falling to the dirt in a cacophonic jingle of broken metal and shattered glass.

A moment later, two bare green feet landed on the vehicle's remains with another groan of tortured steel as Dulce followed the path of her two-ton projectile.

"Give up yet?" Dulce said, her smile every bit as breathtaking in her transformed state as it was in her natural form.

"Hardly," said Bruce, setting his jaw as he flexed his massive biceps into readiness. "I'm just getting started."

With that, he crouched low, then pulled up on the front of the jeep, launching Dulce into the sky in a backward tumble. She arced through the air, unable to control her movement, and crashed through the roof of her compound like an oversized green bowling ball.

Camila gasped as she watched her boss roll through her office wall and reduce her desk to splinters right in front of her.

Dulce rose, dusted herself off, and took in the sight of her amazonian assistant in an office chair, hands still extended before her to type, though with whatever she'd been typing on crushed somewhere in the dusty cloud of disintegrated furniture at Dulce's feet.

"Sorry, Camila. Why don't you order yourself a new desk. And a new typewriter." Dulce said, as she turned in the direction from which she'd come. "I've got some other business to attend to."

As Camila muttered, "I can see that," to the beautiful green giantess, Dulce launched herself into a hypersonic sprint toward Bruce. She blasted through the wall of the compound, sending a shower of concrete chunks tumbling across the yard. Dulce's bare toes dug into the earth for traction as she ran, throwing chunks of sod into the air behind her with every You are not allowed to view links. Register or Login the supersized Latina rapidly closed the distance between her and her adversary, she saw that the Hulk was ready for her, braced for an attack. So rather than a direct assault, Dulce chose another path. With a quick contraction of her powerful legs, she leapt upward at the last possible moment. Bruce's fist sailed forward beneath her, finding nothing but air. Accelerating over his head, she tucked into a somersault, landing gracefully behind him. Tearing a tree from the ground in a fluid motion as she rolled to her feet, she twisted her muscular body to swing it around, dirt spraying everywhere.

As Bruce turned to face his surprisingly agile opponent, green leaves filled his vision⁠—and his mouth. He instinctively spit them out as a dense web of branches crackled, shattering against his rock hard body. But the massive trunk that cracked his skull a second later sent him flying head over heels in a sideways-tumbling cartwheel before he could puff the last of the crispy green leaves from his tongue.

Crunching into the side of a nearby van, Bruce quickly extracted himself from the mangled metal with two powerful tugs of his superhuman limbs. This time, as Dulce leapt toward him again, he managed to grab her arms with his hands, the combined mass of their bodies flipping the van into a thumping sideways roll. As they bounced down the hill, collapsing the side of the wrecked van, Dulce's massive body struggled against his.

When they finally came to a stop, Bruce lay on the ground, Dulce atop him. His hands remained clenched around her wrists as his member began to react to the close proximity of her warm body. Dulce leaned into him, using gravity to her advantage, and Bruce gasped as he felt her hands lurch forward. Her strength was incredible! The woman's perfect breasts bulged against his broad chest, the cobbles of her overdeveloped abs grinding against his as their bodies writhed against one another for leverage. Her powerful form crushing into his, Bruce fought to concentrate on their current struggle. Her insistent arms began to power his hands back.

"Let's see how strong you really are, Bruce," Dulce breathed as their arms trembled, straining against each other in a contest of pure strength.

Bruce felt her torrid breath against his lips, arousing him even further. He swallowed hard, knowing that she would soon feel his inflating member pressing into her inner thigh. Shame turning his viridian cheeks pink, he felt a surge of energy flow through him. He wasn't about to let this woman embarrass him like this! He was the Hulk! With a roar, he halted her forward progress and began to force her arms back.

"You are strong," Dulce's lips whispered softly under admiring eyes. A husky undertone played counterpoint to her melodic voice. Eyes twinkling, Dulce's delicate features contorted. Long eyelashes fluttering with renewed effort, she stopped Bruce's short-lived advance.

"Ungh," Bruce grunted as she countered his best effort, unable to help sneaking a glance at Dulce's pillowy lips, which hovered just above his own. Momentarily distracted by the sight, he couldn't help but notice how the pale green hue of her creamy skin complemented their rosy shade.

Chest heaving with effort, every pulse of her prodigious muscles rippled her full breasts, sending another surge of stimulation through Bruce's quivering body, Dulce began to force him back.

"Not strong enough, though," the sexy Latina said with a wink, desire now clearly evident in her gorgeous eyes.

Bruce squirmed under her as his stunningly beautiful opponent slowly overpowered him. Her legs began to squeeze his hips like a python constricting in eager anticipation of its next meal.

"How... are you... so powerful...?" Bruce breathed in wonder, helpless in a woman's embrace for the first time in his life.

"Haven't you heard?" Dulce panted, the unmatchable strength in her straining muscles finally allowing her hands to reach Bruce's sculpted body. "Colombian women always get what they want."

Bruce gasped. Even in her transformed state, her fingertips still felt silky as they slowly began to splay over his trembling muscles. Bruce continued to fight her progress, but his arms were now burning from the effort. He knew he couldn't last much longer.
He gave a pained laugh, closing his eyes to enjoy the sensation of her hands as her manicured nails rose and fell in  exploration of the deep crevices between his rock-hard abs. "I'm pretty sure it's Dulce who always gets what she wants."

"That too," said Dulce, a mischievous twinkle lighting the depths of her half-lidded eyes. The last of Bruce's resistance collapsing, giving the voluptuous beauty free reign, she pressed her lips to his mouth and began to devour him.

Dulce poured emotion into her kiss. The pent-up frustrations of her battle with Jefe, the elation of her successes with her mother and Camila⁠, all of the highs and lows of recent events swirled together into her simmering attraction to the man beneath her, fueling it all into a sudden eruption of heated passion. Dulce moaned as she put everything she had into expressing her desire with hungry lips.

"Oh, God," Bruce groaned when they finally came up for air. His voice was breathless. Awestruck. "Where did you learn to kiss like that?"

"One good thing about being a woman in a place such as this," she said slyly, licking already moistened lips. "You quickly learn how to make a man beg."

With that, she set about her mission, trailing kisses and nibbles down Bruce's exposed neck. Every touch of her hot mouth to his prickling flesh seemed to set him on fire, the sensation better than anything he'd ever felt. As she worked her way to his chest, licking with her nimble tongue, sucking with her expressive lips, she dragged her teeth over his sculpted pecs. By the time she flicked her tongue over each of his sensitive nipples, he writhed in rapturous discomfort.

"I can feel that you're ready for me," said Dulce, shifting in a way that pressed her inner thigh more tightly against Bruce's raging erection. The feel of her slithering muscles against his quivering member was almost too much for him to bear.

"I've got a secret to share with you, though," she continued, goosebumps washing over his abdomen as steamy puffs of sweet breath swirled over her quivering lips with every word. She slid her body downward, grinding against him. The moisture of her slick skin made it feel as if heat were radiating in rippling waves from between her sculpted thighs. "I'm ready for you too."

Finally, Bruce released her arms. He reached for her hips, fingers digging into steel hard flesh. She laughed, then rolled her hips into him, sending another burst of erotic fireworks crackling through his massive frame. As Bruce shuddered in anticipation, Dulce sunk her fingers into a fistful of cloth, effortlessly tearing away the ragged remnants of his pants. She wadded them into a tight ball and tossed them to the side.

The pair heard a crash and their necks swiveled toward the compound. Dulce's casual throw had shattered the nearest window of the compound. She blinked in surprise. "Guess I don't know my own strength!"

"Well, I certainly do. I don't think I've ever been overpowered by a woman in either of my forms," said Bruce, slipping his hand behind Dulce's neck to reel her in for another kiss.

This time, it was Dulce who was left breathless when their lips finally parted. She sat up, straddling the Hulk with her gorgeously muscled thighs. "Why is it," she panted. "That the most annoying men are always the best kissers?"

"I think you're having trouble with your English again. Seems like certain words keep giving you trouble," Bruce grinned, tearing off the rest of Dulce's top to reveal two perfect green breasts. "The word you're looking for isn't 'most annoying', it's 'sexiest'."

"Oh, really?" Dulce asked, blinking coquettishly as she feigned surprise. "Well, if you're so sexy, Dr. Banner, then explain to me why I suddenly feel like hurting you." A mischievous twinkle in her eye, she descended on him again, sinking her teeth playfully into the flesh of his lower lip before pulling back. She stretched the soft flesh to its limit before releasing it. As it snapped back into place with a light smack, Dulce smiled.

Bruce chuckled as he ran his tongue over his lower lip. "Well, I'm glad you left me in one piece, at least."

"Oh, I'm not done with you yet," Dulce growled in predatory fashion, wriggling her naked body into position. "Not by a long shot," she purred as she nibbled his earlobe, pressing her muscular hips into his.   

Bruce gasped as his tip found her moist folds. As he pressed into her, he shuddered. The sensations that enveloped him within this beautiful woman's superhuman body far more erotic than he could have imagined. As she parted, allowing him entrance, the flexing muscles within her powerful core writhed about his sensitive shaft. The walls of her supremely tight tunnel clenched and relaxed, easing him deeper with sinfully delicious undulations.

"F-f-fuck..." Bruce hissed between clenched teeth as their bodies pressed together. He had never felt anything like it. He had never experienced sex as the Hulk before. No woman he'd ever met could handle him in this form. Until now. It was so much better than anything he'd ever felt.

Dulce's arms wrapped around him in a superhumanly powerful embrace. Bruce felt Dulce's fingers tighten, becoming claws. They dented the powerful muscles of his back, diamond-hard nails digging into his green skin. It was painful⁠⁠—actually painful. It was a sensation he was not accustomed to in this form. But the pain only seemed to enhance his pleasure, swirling into a whirlwind of intense sensation that rapidly coaxed his huge frame into rigidity as rapture quickly built in his unprepared body.

Feeling the sudden change beneath her, Dulce nipped his earlobe, whispering, "Not yet." Bruce let out a long, shuddering exhale. Dulce's voice sounded so seductive, now consumed by raw sensuality. But just before Bruce bucked into a powerful climax, the gorgeous woman eased the pressure on his groin, leaving Bruce breathless, confused, and gulping for air.

The quickly approaching ecstasy seemed to melt back into him, his arousal returning to a tantalizing simmer from the verge of a full boil.

"I want this to last," Dulce said, her long lashes tickling his cheek as she trailed kisses back to his lips.

Slowly, inexorably, she resumed her sensual conquest, powerful thighs flexing as long, sinuous legs intertwined with his. Sleek swells of steely muscle snaked around him, rippling under the satin feel of her soft skin. Dulce's shapely calves felt like polished marble as they slithered against his legs, drawing almost painfully tight as she began to ease her hips over his once again. Her rounded hips began to move in subtle undulations, massing his member as she worked him into her. The sensation was absolutely delicious, her impossible strength drawing him deeper like the irresistible pull of gravity. Pulses of excitement punctuated each roll of her hips, thrilling him each time, though never lasting long enough to bring him to climax.

"Never... felt... so close for... so long before..." Bruce panted, the need in his voice evident. His hands slid about the sexy woman's supple hips until they came to rest on the smooth upper slopes of her breathtaking ass.

Dulce smiled against his lips, pleased at the desperation in the man's voice, knowing that she had been keeping her lover on the brink for long moments, swimming in a sea of pleasure. Pleasure that she alone could bring him. Feeling his hot breath against her mouth, she decided to tease him a bit more. She dove her tongue between his lips in a driving kiss. Flexing her powerful glutes, she wriggled her hips seductively forward, forcing his member deeper into her eager womb.

But Bruce wasn't the only one who felt the visceral impact of the move. With a gasp, Dulce trembled as his enormous member filled her, bringing her own body dangerously close to the brink.

"Unnnnghh," Bruce moaned. Dulce felt his lips quiver around her swirling tongue. "Can't take this... for much... longer..." he whispered as she breathed heavily against him.

"You won't... need to..." said Dulce as their lower abs finally touched, steely bricks of muscle clenching in the rapid, rhythmic cadence of their shared panting. Slim fingers sliding down Bruce's back to his rock-hard glutes, she was unable to resist any longer, giving them both what they so desperately desired. Clutching the hard cheeks of his clenching ass with all her strength, she pulled herself into him. At the same time, Bruce's hips bucked upward with inhuman power in one final, epic thrust.

"Uhgawd," Bruce groaned as his engorged cock drove into her deepest depths.

"Unnnnh!" Dulce chirped as Bruce filled her more deeply than any man ever had.

The pair erupted in unison. Bruce felt his hot seed explode into her just as Dulce's powerful legs clenched in an obscenely powerful contraction, crushing his muscular body to hers. Their lips smashed together as they both cried out, each clawing at the other's unyielding physique. Their shared orgasm rocked the nearby compound as the impossible power of the two most powerful beings on earth climaxing at the same instant pounded into the soft earth again and again with near nuclear force. Their shared peak lasted for what seemed like forever, backs arching, jaws clenching in spectacular release.

Finally, however, their spent bodies went limp. Dulce collapsed onto Bruce, panting against his chest as his flexing arms relaxed around the small of her back. They breathed heavily against each other's sweat-glazed skin for a long moment before either could speak.

After several minutes, Dulce finally managed to lift her cheek from Bruce's sculpted chest. With a sparkle in her dark eye, she asked, "Ready for round two?"

Under her chin, the thick cables of muscle within Bruce's chest contracted with surprise. "Are you kidding?" Bruce wheezed, his body still quivering from the power of their recent climax. He was still nestled inside of her, his monstrous member still painfully hard.

Dulce shifted again, turning her luminous eyes toward his. She stretched upward, reaching her lips to his mouth and gave him a soft, drawn out kiss. While it didn't have the urgency of her earlier kisses, it was filled with even greater sensuality.

"I'm not," she said in a soft voice. Her eyes were earnest⁠—intensely so⁠—as her long lashes rose to reveal the glimmering darkness of her glassy irises. "Make love to me, Bruce."

For the first time, it felt as if Bruce was seeing the true Dulce. There was no humor in her eyes this time. No amusement. Only genuine affection. The unexpected moment of true intimacy sent a pulse of... something... directly into his heart. What that something was, he wasn't sure. It was an emotion he had never felt before. But it felt good. It felt right. So very right.

He found her lips in another meaningful kiss. He was grateful for her gift, this small bit of her true self. Bruce's hand came up, drifting along the smooth swells of her rippled back. He buried his fingers in her thick, silky tresses, pressed her head into his and intensified the kiss.

Rolling atop her powerful-yet-unmistakably-feminine body, Bruce took his time this time, sharing the depth of his feelings through the soft, sensual caress of his lips.

Overcome, Dulce moaned beneath him, the soft swirl of air from between her lips caressing his chin. "Please, Bruce." She wanted him. More than before. More than she'd ever wanted anything in her entire life.

Bruce smiled, hands finding her full breasts, taut nipples digging into his meaty palms as Dulce's body arched beneath him. Chin rising as her head tilted back, her lips parted in a contented moan. Then, the two proceeded to truly make love. For hours. In ways that only superhuman lovers could.



End of Chapter 5

My co-writer wrote a good portion of this chapter, including all of the final scene. I'm definitely biased, but I think it is pretty damn good!

[legfan71]

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