Let Me Talk to Hulk

Deep within the Avengers Base, the heavy alloy gate groaned under the relentless impacts, as if the endless sea of rot outside would tear it open at any second.

Through the crack in the door, the thick, unbearable corpse stench and low, inhuman roars seeped in continuously like a cold, viscous tide.

Bruce Banner, a man who should have been one of Earth's most powerful forces, now looked like a startled rabbit, his back pressed tightly against the cold console. His glasses were askew, and sweat had soaked through his wrinkled white coat.

He gripped the edge of the control panel with both hands and let out a near-screaming roar toward an empty corner—or rather, toward the raging existence within him:

"Come out! Hulk! Please! Now! Right now! Come out—!!!"

The only response was the more frenzied impacts outside the door, and the deadly abyss within him.

It felt as ridiculous and tragic as frantically shaking the keys to a prison cell and calling for help from a cellmate he had personally locked in the deepest dungeon, tortured in every way, and then abandoned.

Banner's facial muscles twisted with fear and effort. He nearly ground his gums to pieces as he tried to force open those invisible shackles with willpower. "Listen! Hulk! I know... I know I did terrible things to you! I... I'm sorry! Really! But this isn't the time for throwing a tantrum! We need you! I need you! Those things outside... they'll rush in and tear us—tear me apart! Chew me up! Eat me! Can you hear me?! Hul—k—!!!"

Silence.

Suffocating silence.

Just as despair was about to drown Banner, a low, muddled voice filled with immense grievance and resistance struggled to emerge from the deepest part of his soul, as though through thick mire:

"Hulk... doesn't...