Bruce's mind was a mess. He vaguely remembered that while running away, he'd encountered the factory thugs, who'd knocked him to the ground with a single punch. When he woke up again, he'd found himself lying in a forest.
He knew the monster inside him had awakened again. Maybe he'd been through some fierce battle and fled all the way to this forest. But where the hell was he?
Bruce held up his pants as he searched the forest for a way out. Why was he holding them up? Because they'd been torn apart when he transformed, and now that he'd turned back into a human, his clothes were in tatters.
To be precise, his shirt was long gone, and all that remained of his pants was a strip of cloth. One wrong move and he'd be exposed.
He hadn't gone far when he saw a car driving toward him. He hurried over to flag it down and asked in Portuguese where he was, but the driver couldn't understand Portuguese and answered in Spanish.
Bruce froze. He realized he must have run out of Brazil. Thankfully, the clever Bruce had studied several languages. After all, he had seven PhDs.
"Where is this?"
"Guatemala."
Bruce could hardly believe his ears. Brazil was in South America, while Guatemala was in Central America. They were so far apart—how long had he run to get here?
The kind driver took him to a town. Seeing how he looked, he assumed Bruce was a homeless man and even gave him some money.
"I need a new pair of pants." Bruce went to the market. He seemed to remember someone telling him to buy pants.
He was on the run, but he couldn't exactly flee with his butt hanging out. People would think he was a