Brazil, Rio de Janeiro.
The air in Rocinha's slums was always thick with the sour stench of rotting tropical fruit, cheap tobacco, and fermenting sewage. Ramshackle shanties clung to the hillside like colorful patches, packed so tightly that even sunlight struggled to penetrate the tangled webs of power lines.
Bruce Banner sat cross-legged beneath a leaking sheet-metal roof.
His eyes were closed, his chest rising and falling in a measured rhythm. Exhale, inhale. The cheap digital heart-rate monitor on his wrist gave off a monotonous ticking.
The number held at 58. Steady.
Chalk tally marks covered the wall beside him. One hundred and fifty days. Five whole months without the green monster coming out for air.
Banner opened his eyes and picked up the towel beside him to wipe the sweat from his neck. Rio's sweltering weather made the place feel like a giant steamer.
He walked over to the secondhand computer in the corner, cobbled together from salvaged parts, and tapped the keyboard. The screen lit up, displaying an encrypted chat window.
[Mr. Green: The centrifuge test on the blood sample failed. The rate of cell division exceeded the limits of conventional inhibitors.]
The cursor blinked a few times before a reply came through.
[Mr. Blue: The dosage isn't enough. You need a higher concentration of the inhibitor, but I need more data. Your setup is too rudimentary for high-precision gene sequencing.]
Banner's fingers paused over the keys.
[Mr. Green: I can't leave here. If I'm exposed, no one can handle the consequences. Find another alternative.]
He closed the computer and cut the power.
General Ross's hounds were searching for him all over the world. The military didn't want Bruce Banner, the scientist with seven doctorates. They wanted the ultimate weapon inside him,