Eyes engulfed by blue, the expanse of the heavens felt endless, yet even so, there was no place there for Bruce Banner.

Naked shoulders blazed from the heat, knees dug into the dirt, sweat building and draining, breath coming and going, Bruce felt like he was waiting without any idea what it was for. His mind was blank as the blue, a feeling creeping up on him that he couldn’t even call ‘deja vu’, because it was too recent to make him feel anything other than dread and guilt. He remembered the sensation of the phone popping between his fingers, a fresh smartphone turned to splinters of glass and plastic in his hand, yet it remained unhurt.

Feeling nauseous, he started to gag. Leaning over, he spread is arms to give him balance as he coughed, forcing it out. His sweat turned cold, anxiety building: vomiting under these conditions could mean easy dehydration, and there wasn’t much but flat waste and rocky outcroppings in his blurry sight. But what came was not a swill of orange and yellow, but a dab of red, and a dull thunk in the now wet dirt. Sputtering as he choked in swallowing back blood, he wiped his lip, squinting his eyes at the hunk that came out. Leaning in, the piece of metal with the rounded tip was something he feared to be a bullet. Wiping his forehead, answers seemed impossible. Vision swimming, his arms bowed, about to give. Falling to his elbow, then his back, he cringed at the heat, dust sticking to his sweaty skin. Throat dry beyond the blood that had dripped down, he gasped out, struggling to his feet. Spotting foliage, he headed to the nearest rock, slipping into the shade and collapsing back down.

Knees to his chest, arms wrapped to cover his eyes and he tucked in his head, every time Bruce thought about trying to go home he was felt with an unmistakable dread. He only had some pittance of memory: stumbling in stretches of dark, eyes hurt by flashes of light, chest rumbling from his yelling. It was definitely a nightmare, but the last time it happened, people got hurt.

Head swimming, Bruce trembled. There he sat, sky tinting to orange as the sun fell. Trembling was joined by shivering, and Bruce had no idea what to do. Because try as he might, he could not seem to wake up. Even with so little energy. Bruce forced himself to stand, back into the light on the sunset among the deepening dark shadows, the last fleeting warmth of the desert’s day. Picking a direction, as much as it hurt, he could only keep going.



“Here we have an urgent report from Navapo, New Mexico, which just recently suffered from an attack on El Diablo Air Force Base. Reportedly, the attacker was a hulking meta, who tore through the unprepared base for reasons still unknown. Miraculously there are no casualties, but dozens are injured: as you can see from the footage, the critical wounded were sent to a hospital for proper care. With the coast clear, concerned citizens and family members have begun to crowd around the freeway entrance to the base, now currently closed. We are now going to the scene. Christian?”

“Thank you Talanda. I’ve been here for 10 minutes and ambulances have not stopped coming out- there goes another one. We have several witnesses claiming to have seen this green hulk leaving roughly an hour ago. I’m about to get word from one of them now.” He stepped over, reaching a bearded elder.

“I really can’t believe it. It’s setting in now and I...this is a military base. A least robbers make sense, but that thing came in, wrecked shop, and scooted out. When are those metas and muties going to stop? When are they going to be stopped.”

“Sir, you said you saw the monster?”

“Monster? That was a monster alright. Probably looked like a man earlier today. I know I’ve never seen any green giants walking around Navapo. Could have been anyone though, s’far as I know. That’s how mutants work, right?”

“Uh, well, there’s more nuance to it than that sir...”

“I don’t care about nuance I want to go around the city without having to worry about some mutie going off, god dam-” The voice faded as the mic was hastily pulled away

“Well, thank you for your time sir. There you have it. We do not have the identity regarding the monster, but authorities have assured us that the search is underway. The situation is still developing and our ears are to the ground...”

With every step seemed to come a fall. With every breath seemed to come an unseasonal chill. With every pang of the stomach came a wave of nausea.

Falling to all fours, it took everything Bruce had to not fall even further. Getting back up didn’t seem doable. On his second day of trying to find his way, his body was past its limit. No food, no water. Even if he had his full vision he had no survival skills to speak of. He didn’t know where he could find water, couldn’t catch any animals with his sight, and didn’t know what plants were edible. The only reason he hadn’t died in the night was because he had a mind to bury himself in sand, creating a cover to trap his body heat, but now his legs and arms were giving out with no salt, calories, or nutrients to function. He wasn’t even sweating any more, his body holding on to every drop of water it had. He’d heard that the body could survive three days without water, but it seemed like that was a faint hope.

Recognizing the fruitlessness of his efforts to stay off the ground, Bruce collapsed, rolling on his side. Crags and expanse all about him, his eyes were back to the blue. And there they stayed. Trapped in his own body, the heat unbearable, muscles aching, throat arid, he’d believed he was weak, that it was over, but his body stubbornly held on. As much as he wanted to melt into the scorching earth, his body remained afloat. Losing the strength to even hold his eyes open, his vision became red, sunlight bleeding through his eyelids, refusing his respite. Helpless to his circumstances, Bruce couldn’t even muster the will to try and get up. Instead, his breath reached equilibrium, his sight engulfed by white. He briefly wondered if it was intended to be a canvas, a screen to which his life would flash in his last. No such visions came, but the pain became secondary. Like the void in his sights his body felt distant, and for the first time in ages he felt at peace. A peace that went cold as his body seemed to freeze. With his darkening mood, one delicate under death’s grip, his sight too went dark, and everything was gone.



Just a flash of green for every moment. The blood rushing in his ears gave way to a ringing, a beeping. Endless, incessant, obnoxious. Eyes tried to flutter open but they were stopped for just a moment. There was a strangled gasped, like finding air for the first time. The beeping seemed to get louder, but he wanted it to stop, not knowing its truth. Deaf to the answers, he only heard his name being called as he struggled against that which kept him down, hand grasping at the blanket over him. A brief glance brought him to the sight of a nurse, who held one of his shoulders down, trying to keep him still.

“Let me move.” He grunted. Pulling the blankets back he expected them to hold tight but they slid back like it was nothing. “Sir, please. Mr. Blonsky.”

“Let go!” Blonsky spat. The nurse held his hands up. “I’m not touching you sir!” Blonksy finally stopped to listen. The beeping of his heart monitor refused to slow, only intensifying as his hand touched his thigh. Or rather, the empty piece of meat he thought to be his thigh. Leaning forward, he went to reach his toes, but only his shoulders came up, his waist unmoving.

Holding onto the flesh of his leg, trying to hold himself up, he gaped, noise going muddy, sight swimming. With a rush of air his head fell ever so slightly, never being so high in the first place, yet it came crashing down all the same.



Betty felt her nose crinkle as she opened the door, wincing and the smell of incense. She never liked the smell of smoke, and whatever else was supposed to be called to mind by the scent she didn’t enjoy either. Unable to keep herself from coughing, she hacked, “Rick what the hell is this?

Leaning over a computer screen, Rick answered, “I just focus better with it, sorry.” Stopping so that he could wheel his chair over, he snuffed it out, nabbing a remote to turn on a fan.

Flopping down on the couch, she wished she really had the chance to get some fresh air. Rick’s apartment was sparse, made up of a couch, computer setup, with a table that extended into the nearby kitchen. She was only here for a bit, as trying to get to her apartment was...well, no longer easy. General Ross grasped why she’d had the reaction she did to that monster, coming to the same realization, and in her fervor he may have let it’s identity ‘slip’ to news outlets. Needless to say Betty didn’t want to be seeing him anytime soon.

The Hulk. That’s what the monster Bruce had become was being called, thanks to one of the earliest reports on the attack countrywide. Such a senseless attack on an unprepared, government run target by a previously unknown meta was just the story the current political climate needed, very neatly fitting the anti-meta narrative. Betty might have even been running with it: she’d said her pieces before, such as after the first student to attack their school with mutant powers, complicating school shooting and gun law discussions even further. But this time, even the thought of trying to put something to the page about the Hulk exhausted her. She’d known the signs, warned others to watch for them, ask them to look past their biases and certainties. To somehow find that which was being kept hidden before it exploded out. And in no capacity had she succeeded in following her own words.

Bruce ended up in the desert over road rage? And another car had randomly found its way into a smoke shop? The way he tended to shut down when certain topics came up wasn’t unusual for him, but in the moment she even had that thought of ‘he hasn’t reacted like this before’. And then she dismissed it. She’d known Bruce for so long it felt like she knew everything about him, but that thought was a dangerous one, and reflection kept bringing her more pain, more of their childhood.

How deeply did this go? And if recollection brought her so much pain, what was Bruce going through right now?

The air a bit clearer, Betty sat up again. Rick took note, turning about in his chair. “Thinking about...you know?” Betty unconsciously bit her lip, admitting, “It’s hard not to right now. Did you come up with anything?”

Rick had been lucky to avoid particular notice. Ross’ leak had been the only significant one. Rumor and speculation was abound, but the exact nature of the Gamma Stream project, and more importantly, those who worked on it, was still very much government secrets. Betty was expected to be involved in the eventual press release when it was ready for public display and investment, but now the whole thing was up in the air. At the very least, Fendi Labs was also being quiet, so Rick’s place was currently a blind spot to snoops, once Betty shook off anyone tailing her at least.

“There was one thing: Ross fired the Discharger and Bruce just sneezed it off.” Betty winced: to her it had been the Hulk, but she kept her mouth shut. “The residual radiation should have been a threat to everyone in that room, but there was barely anything.”

Betty frowned, “That was like when Bruce was hit by it too, right? The Discharger...” Betty trailed off, having moved towards an explanation in her mind, but Rick’s winced, moving in. “Those are the exceptions, not the rules. Every time Bruce was involved, the results have been relatively tiny, but every other time the measurable output has been expected. Levels that would pretty easily kill a person. It’s not the machine, it’s Bruce. Somehow he’s capable of absorbing radiation, like a sponge. I don’t know if it’s detectable, or if it’s even safe to be near him.” Betty felt her heart run cold. Rick sensed her anxiety and explained, “Look, everyone there was tested and you had no more or less radiation then anyone there. We can’t discount the possibility that this is a still evolving mutation, if it’s even a mutation at all.”

Betty swallowed. That confirmed it, and the explosive symptoms at the very least only seemed to have started after the accident. That said, they didn’t seem purposeful. A continuation of accidents, triggered by...

“It wasn’t before the accident. It wasn’t!” Betty realized, almost jumping out of her seat. Rick seemed taken aback, but didn’t interrupt. “He was mad at Talbot, and a little while before that he got into road rage. The car didn’t match the description he gave, but that might have been the first time: the Hulk sent it into a building.” Rick seemed a bit lost in her rambling, but she persisted, “I remember him doing the same thing as he did last time before the accident, he fought off a dog that attacked us. No Hulk.” Knuckle over her mouth, she admitted, “It’s anger. The Hulk is Bruce when he’s angry.”

Rick scratched his chin. “Well, I’ve almost never seen him angry so...”

It had clicked together, but it didn’t seem to solve anything. Losing that motivation, Betty flopped back into her seat. Trying to envision a future only muddled her thoughts. She could only see clearly when looking back. “Hey Rick, there’s a scientist I want you to look into, when you get time.” Rick turned back to his screen, head over his shoulder watching her carefully. Betty closed her eyes for a moment, remembering the scent of that autumn in particular, the light smoke from neighborhood fireplaces, the leaves molding into the dirt, and the cigarette stench of the one who found the two runaway children.

“I need to know more about Brian Banner.”



Taste of slime and muck filling his mouth, Bruce opened his eyes, something he hadn’t expected to ever do again. He felt moisture on his back, soft dirt all about. The air was cool yet above he could see the sun, in between the crags creating shade, and flashes of green tinged his sights. Rolling over, he was shocked to have the energy. The movement shifted his bowels, and a belch came to the surface, its taste like a vegetable. Looking up to see a pool of stagnant water, he swatted away at the itching, flies finding him. Moving away, he stepped out of the hideaway and back into the heat, getting his bearings.

He was still very much in the desert, but somehow he’d ended up at what was more or less a hidden oasis. A bit more plant life was about, including some destroyed cacti. That broken fresh scent reminded him of the unfamiliar taste, and it came together, hope and fear alike. He’d been saved by the very thing that put him here, that shoved that car into the building and threw him into the desert. And yet that thing may have done something even worse, and he could not remember even a bit. He wanted to see Betty, so badly, or even just to find out if she was alright. Talbot? Ross? Rick? Anyone?

Falling to his knees, taking in the heat, the landscape before him seemed just a little bit clearer. He had no direction, and he hated that his ineptness meant he would have to continue to rely on that, but it was keeping him alive.

For better or worse.

Bruce had quickly come to hate the sound of the desert, and in the time since he’d been stuck here, needless to say that hadn’t changed. It was mostly the wind, the breeze picking at dirt and boulder. Sometimes there was a sound of a creature, the fearful hiss of a snake or flapping of a wing. Mostly it was his feet taking step by step. It was through those feet that he had become so aware of whatever was within him. Every day he tore his feet to shreds walking, and every morning they would be patched up stronger. He was healing, regenerating. He had been for a while but only now was he starting to see. On one hand things were easier: he likely wouldn’t die at least, and as he skin was tanning and feet getting firm the actual trail was easier to blaze. But on the other he only had his thoughts and the sound of emptiness. He hadn’t found a road so he must have been going in circles, or been unlucky in the direction he picked, or perhaps set back by those times his body couldn’t handle itself and something else took control. It was all a terrible mess, and he wanted to be free of it.

Then there was another sound.



Splintered and shattered, dust bellowed into the air, lungs of fire glowing from within the cloud.

“Direct hit sir.” A bespectacled operative reported. Overseeing from the back, eyes narrowed on the footage being displayed among the various monitors, General Ross picked at his firm mustache with one of his hands. The other rested trapped in a cast, hung on a sling. The general only wore a regular army shirt, his dress coat not suitable with his current injury. The man need not have served in his present state, but his was a fury that could not be so easily contained. Between the current climate around metahumans, public response to the El Diablo attack, and his own fervor, getting permission for the counterattack was simple. They’d been watching, it was only a matter of time before they could strike.

As the cloud ruptured, a green monster tearing out of it, Ross knew other matters were not going to be so simple.

As the Hulk gave chase to its attackers, bounding after them, an analyst noted, “The target’s vertical jump distance leaves the drones just out of reach at their current altitude.”

Head perking up, Ross ordered, “Get closer. Attract its attention and pull back.”

Several miles away, the drones were but a speck to the Hulk, but each jump brought them closer. Plan of attack ready, in a short minute the Hulk was on them, jumping up only for the drones to pull upward and turn about, Hulk slipping past and crashing to the ground. As it began to turn back it met another payload, swallowed by fire and dust yet again. Drones starting to circle like vultures, Hulk came out of the smoke blind, but jumping dangerously close. Then there was a its arm, pulled back before letting loose. It began to fall back as one of the drones command consoles shout warnings, its integrity compromised, a rock the size of a cake having sent the drone closer to its last, a wing plummeting to the ground as the Hulk did. The drone stayed aloft but it wasn’t going to last. It’s travel was halted as the Hulk returned to the sky once again, grabbing the drone and twisting its whole body, redirecting its descent right into the flight path of a second drone. The third fired a missile that went awry, slipping past the Hulk as he fell back to the ground once again. The tossed drone narrowly missed its target, emergency maneuvers getting it out of the way, by the drone pulled to its side had trouble stabilizing, skirting the ground and bouncing off the crags below, grounded.

The third drone had pulled back, firing just as the Hulk went after it. The monster could not reach, but the cameras finally got a good visual, noting that the missiles had found their mark, Hulk speckled in char and matted dust. Yet it did not slow his charge. Another missile came in hoping to do just that, and the Hulk swatted it aside like it was a bug.

Ross felt his eyelid throb. Sneering at that monster on screen, he finally spat, “Abort the operation.” He could feel stinging in his throat from trying to shout orders these last few minutes of combat, but it had been a disappointing endeavor. All that ordinance and the Hulk didn’t even seemed phased. Then he heard the last of it. “Sir, the last drone was taken out.”

Brow crumpling, Ross stood from his seat. Lifting it up, his arm bent awkwardly in his sling, barely gripping it with that hand, before swinging it into the wall behind him. One chair leg made a dent in the plaster. If both his arms were working then it’d have done more, he knew. That fact only pissed him off even more, dent deepening with another smack of the chair. The back of the seat came off on the third hit, chair clattering to the ground and bouncing against his shin.

Holding back another roar, Ross’ voice cracked as he commanded, “You are all dismissed. Prep a team to salvage the drones once the Hulk is clear of the area, and GET OUT OF MY SIGHT BEFORE I RIP OFF SOMEONE’S ARM AND SHOVE IT DOWN THEIR THROAT.” The scramble was immediate and brief.

Placing one hand on his desk in the now empty command room, every breath further stoked the fire within him.

Waking up was a new beginning that Bruce was no longer looking forward too. These rests had only been fatigue after fatigue. Aimless, it didn’t seem to matter which direction he moved in, so maybe it was better not to move at all.

Then he caught the smell of oils of some kind, a manufactured stench. Opening his eyes, he got up, looking about to see smoke, black and noxious. Unnatural and artificial. Scampering across dust in between shrubs, he cried out as he felt pain across his foot. Looking down there was a hunk of metal jutting out of the ground. Watching his step, foot angled to avoid putting pressure on his wound, each step still testing it and making him hold back a small yelp of pain, he made it to his goal, looking at the wreckage. He felt his insides wash away, averting his gaze, not wanting to see any further.

It was an aircraft. The last sound he’d heard was that of a missile, set to destroy him. And yet now, it was he who was standing. He heard a raspy rattled gurgle from his own throat, reverberating as he tried to get away on his wobbly legs. The drumbeat of his heart matched the throbbing in his head. He couldn’t look, because if he did he’d risk seeing a body. The absolute proof he needed to know that the missile should have done its job.

Peeling away, he whined as he saw the smoke of yet another wreck, then another. The energy had been swept out of him. Buckling he feel to his knees, thrusting his forehead into the dirt. His hand gripped empty air, before clawing down scraping at the earth, but none of his pain could quell the despair at his actions, the anger at himself.

Anger, that was it wasn’t it. The linking thread between the smoke shop and Talbot. Some kind of intense emotion, like the stew of grief one felt before their death.

To invite suspicion was one thing, to invite government action was another. They knew who he was, what he was, and what he’d done, something Bruce could only imagine. Body no longer hurting, Bruce pushed himself over, resting on his rear. His foot still had blood, but it no longer bled. Wiping it away, it had healed like it was new, something he could see through eyes that had better sight then he remembered having even with corrective lenses.

It was all clear now. So very much.



Carefully out of sight, Bruce slipped on a red and white plaid shirt, loose and oversized on his thin body. Finally in something resembling an outfit after days, Bruce skulked away from the rural home, taking to the road a little ways up. His feet had hardened, resisting the heated asphalt with only a mild discomfort. And most importantly of all, he had direction: east, away from the setting sun.

The military hadn’t bothered him again, though for all he knew they could find him at any time. He would deal with that as it came, however. If need be he’d turn himself in, though he couldn’t be certain what prison could contain him. As much as he feared being stuck somewhere cold and dark once again, it was that exact fear that drove his step eastward. He couldn’t go back, not to Betty or Rick. He could only pray they weren’t hurting, that they were still alright. But going back would risk hurting them further. He’d felt guilt and shame over his emotions, but only after the fact. That was his mistake, now he had to know himself, to keep himself restrained before he showed what he was like when he was angry.

He’d never liked when he was angry in the first place.

But as chancy as it was, in New York there might have been someone he could burden, the one with the best chances at knowing why or what exactly he was. Because one thing was certain, he was the only one alive who made Bruce, Bruce. He still hadn’t ever felt resentment over his treatment, just fatigue. His step was not determined: the man could so easily make Bruce feel emotions he didn’t know he had, but maybe that was a good enough threat to keep him in line. A wave of guilt welled from within, but Bruce swallowed hit back. Even after all he’d done, Bruce still couldn’t hate him. And now he knew why. Or rather, where.

Where the one Bruce really despised had been all this time.

The shadow thin around the park bench, grass drying, pond shallow and akin to muck, Betty sat up as a dark purple pickup rolled into the nearby parking lot. Aside from that, she was completely still and relaxed, even as the vehicle stopped, General Ross stepping out in a casual polo shirt and jeans, arm still cast in a sling. Keeping tabs on Betty, he went up the slight incline, already in sour states. “So now you feel like talking? I can guess why but I don’t like it.”

“This isn’t about the drones. I know they didn’t come back,” Betty insisted. Ross was given pause, resting a few steps away and only just above her eye level, leaning on his leg against the incline, hand on his knee as he looked her in the eyes. “I’m not going to ask how you know about that. But I will say that if you think this misstep is going to convince me to stop then you don’t know me half as well as you should.”

Ross got back up, taking a seat on the bench, keeping his fair distance as Betty crossed her leg, gaze not deliberately going to him. “Just answer my questions so we can get back to what I’m sure we’d both rather be doing.” Ross’ mustache rustled with a tired breath. “We haven’t talked since the Hulk smashed through my base. This is what I would rather be doing. I want to see that you’re alright.” Betty’s stern look didn’t abate, nor did she turn to Ross, the man huffing as he looked off himself, letting his vision become distracted with a plume of cloud thinning and drifting apart somewhere far off.

“His name is Bruce.” Betty finally stated. “But I’m not here for that. I want to know more about Brian Banner.” Ross was taken aback, leaning forward, eyes betraying how much he had expected the subject. “Both of Bruce’s transformations happened after the Diffuser accident, but the trigger seems to be the anger he’s always had issues with. He’s not good at controlling himself when he’s angry, and he doesn’t get angry a lot, so I didn’t notice at first.”

“And why Brian?” Ross only had a second to take in Betty’s glare before she lashed out, striking him across the face. His eyes burned into hers, the warm day only getting hotter, much like his stinging cheek. Betty’s hand was trembling, her breath like a storm. “Don’t you fucking dare. You knew exactly what was going on in that house. I knew.”

Turning away, a hand came to Betty’s mouth, clutched. Every surfacing memory gave her a pang of guilt, a twinge of shame, a punch in the gut for every bruise she saw and said nothing. She had been eight. It was just a fact of life, something that just happened and no one could do anything about it. But she wasn’t eight any more. She understood well what could have been, what needed to be done. But that didn’t explain or excuse the lack of action from those around her. Hands steady, Betty’s breath seethed as she turned back to Ross expectantly.

“You don’t look like you’ll hear me out, but fine. Their family was not my business. The only reason any of it is my business now is because someone in that family turned my base into a playground. Don’t blame me for not getting involved in something they should have been able to sort out themselves.” Betty’s glare remained unbending, the woman’s anger blazing. Truth be told she couldn’t even speak. As she rose, her thoughts stumbled into one another. His complete dismissal of the Banner family dynamic and the power Brian must have had over it, the inequity and difficulty of those victimized by him to do anything about their circumstances, ones that left a person dead. And this man didn’t care one bit.

She wanted to storm away, but she hadn’t yet gotten what she wanted. Arms crossed, fingernails pinching her skin, she turned back, demanding, “I need to find out where Brian is.”

Ross scoffed. Leaning forward in his seat, he said, “So you can do what? Get him to un-fuck Bruce’s head? He’s not that kind of doctor.” Ross’ casual demeanor was only getting on Betty’s nerves even more. He didn’t care enough to even be angry. “Saving Bruce is the idea.”

Ross shook his head, leaning back, throwing his free arm over the back of the bench. “That’s not happening. Even if by some miracle you get to him before I do, he’s the poster child of what this nation is afraid of right now. A life in Blackgate would be lucky for him. An example needs to be made. Though maybe execution would be a wiser move. Don’t tell me you’ve never thought about how he’d be better off dead.”

Betty’s mind flashed to images of herself getting him in the head, crushing his nose with her heel. Her arms twitched, as if to throw the first thing that came to them. Holding herself back, her palpable frustration almost became tears, but once she felt them welling up, she blinked them back. Keeping her eyes closed tight, inky blackness took over, the faintest of light getting through showing blobs of green. With a deep breath, she asked, “Is that want you want? To piss me off?.” She couldn't keep her voice from quavering, revealing her true self, but she could step back, Betty kept away from the playing field where she would have fallen in her lack of experience, unable to match the fervor of a man who’s shouting had resulted in the oldest memory she could recall.

Ross sighed, pulling his arm off the back of the bench. “I’m trying to protect you while you’re trying to kiss up to a monster!” Ross spat “He sneezed off the Diffuser, broke my arm without even trying, and a drone strike only slowed him down. And to shoot down your stupid theory, he’s transformed randomly in the desert, we’ve been watching him. What do you think he’s getting mad about out there? Huh?”

Betty was given pause, but she refused to give ground, “I’ll ask him myself, before or after I see Brian, whichever comes first, with our without your help.” Betty turned off, making her way. Ross was taken aback, standing from his spot. “Don’t you run away from me! We’re not done here!”

Betty didn’t stop. Ross bared his teeth, swearing before shouting back, “Just because you made it away from the monster once doesn’t mean it’ll happen again!” Betty didn’t stop, her words just barely audible to her father, eyes straight forward. “I don’t plan on seeing the monster again in the first place.” As she drove off, Ross had very well seen that she hadn't looked back at him even once, and very much feared he wouldn't see her again.