Hunger

General Ross hadn't slept for a long time. After making various tactical arrangements and negotiating with various forces, the passion he had felt for victory had gradually faded. He sat in his chair, his eyes slightly narrowed, conserving his energy for the next operation.

Everything depends on Bruce Banner. Once he goes to Samuel Stern and injects himself with the antidote to weaken himself, all that's left is to capture the defenseless Stern.

Bruce Banner is Bruce Banner. His seven doctoral degrees don't grant him any real power; any one of his soldiers could easily defeat him with his bare hands. As long as he doesn't transform into the Hulk, it couldn't be simpler.

"I'm not young anymore." It wasn't just Franski who lamented the decline in his physical strength and energy; General Ross felt the same way. Almost asleep, he had a thought—should he also get an injection of Super Soldier Serum?

However, the terrifyingly low failure rate of the Super Soldier Serum made General Ross hesitate, and he subsequently rejected the idea.

Just as General Ross was half asleep, someone jolted him awake. "General, Franski..."

Opening his bloodshot eyes, General Ross looked at the person half-clad in a hazmat suit in front of him. This was one of the two he had arranged to inject Franski with the vampire-derived drug. Judging from her expression, the situation was dire.

As he stood up and walked over, General Ross asked the person in the hazmat suit, "Have you contacted Franski's family, or does he have any family at all?"

The man in the hazmat suit hesitated for a moment before slowly saying, "General, Franski's situation is very special. You'd better go and see for yourself."

To be honest, General Ross didn't like his subordinates speaking to him in this way. As a United States soldier, one should be decisive and straightforward. But judging from the other man's expression, Franski's condition must not be good right now, and even if he didn't die, it wouldn't be much better—most likely, if a funeral were held, his body would not be allowed to be seen by his family one last time.

For an average person, just one glance at it would probably cause their SAN value to plummet, and those with poor mental fortitude would likely go insane on the spot.

General Ross hurried along and soon arrived at the door of the room. Dodge sound came from inside, as if a huge, hungry carnivore was hiding in the room, frantically tearing at its prey and chewing away.

Listening to the commotion, General Ross could even imagine a blood-soaked scene.

"Could it be that Franski has mutated into a monster?"

Turning to look at the hazmat suit following closely behind her, she thought to herself—you're not going to get me killed, are you?!

But seeing the other party's serious expression, General Ross still opened the door to the room.

What came into view was not a scene of carnage; no one was injured, no one died, and even Franski had not mutated.

He didn't even bother to get off the operating table, and his belt remained on his lower body. Franski just sat there, holding a large piece of steak in his hands and gnawing on it. Blood-like juices kept flowing from the simply grilled, medium-rare Franski, splashing around with every bite.

Franski's eating style was undeniably rough, like a Beast that hadn't eaten for three days. He would bite into a steak, chew it a few times, and then swallow it whole, completely disregarding whether his stomach could digest it.

"Franski?"

General Ross watched as Franski frantically devoured beef, ignoring him, and deeply suspected that the enhancement drug had failed, that Franski's brain had been damaged, and that he had become a ravenous Beast.

The man in the hazmat suit followed him in and said to General Ross, "That half-dose of the drug was a great success. Major Franski's body has already been enhanced to the limits of human capabilities by the Super Soldier Serum; his heart's blood supply capacity is stronger than that of a racehorse. After this half-dose of the drug was used to enhance him, his physical abilities are so strong that there is no animal in nature stronger than him."

"What's wrong with him now?" General Ross asked, looking at Franski. His performance didn't look like a success at all.

The man in the hazmat suit thought for a moment and said, "It's probably because they need energy. The stronger the body, the more energy it needs. Just like giant pandas, they spend most of their waking hours eating, and they need to constantly replenish their energy to maintain their bodies' energy consumption. Major Franski pays great attention to training, and his body fat percentage has always been maintained at a very low level, which cannot guarantee the energy consumption of his enhanced body."

"Sir, please move aside." A soldier in a cook's uniform said to General Ross, who was blocking the door, from outside the door. He was pushing a food cart with containers full of grilled steaks.

After eating two steaks delivered by food carts, Franski finally stopped and returned to his normal state, except that his abdomen was flat and his abdominal muscles were still there, as if the steaks that were enough to feed fifty people had never entered his stomach.

"Franski, how are you feeling now?"

Franski tilted his head back and gulped down the large bottle of drinking water. Then, he stepped aside the protective suit that was about to loosen his belt, and used his bare hands to tear off the belts binding his legs to the operating table one by one. He jumped off the table, stretched his body, and said, "Great, I feel better than ever before."

As he aged, even with regular exercise, Franski's muscles inevitably became looser. However, his skin and muscles became taut and full, making him look like a young man in his twenties. Only his bones became more prominent, which made people feel somewhat uncomfortable.

"Ready for a third round with Hulk? He's walking right into the trap we've set for him," General Ross said with a smug look on his face, seemingly unconcerned about the strange changes in Franski.

Franski chuckled and said, "I can't wait any longer!"

But the glint in his eyes betrayed him; his fighting spirit was irrepressible.

General Ross said, "Clean yourself up, change into new clothes, pack some suitable ones, a great battle awaits you."

But General Ross didn't know was that two voices were constantly roaring in the mind of the soldier in front of him, relentlessly assaulting Franski's consciousness.

One of them shouted, "I'm so hungry! I'm so hungry! I'm so hungry! I need to eat meat, I want to drink blood, I want to eat the Hulk, only his flesh can satisfy me!"

Another shout was, "Fight! Destroy! Fight the Hulk, defeat that Beast, wash away your humiliation with his blood, and write glory with his head!"

These two voices did not conflict; their needs were not contradictory. After all, what's wrong with eating what you've killed?