Pacifista

One Universe: World Of Heroes - A Marvel & DC Comics RPG

_{Location: Belize City, Belize}

A Green God, A Green Devil – 1.02

---

_{Interaction(s): None}

Previously: 1.01

“They’re not my kids,” admitted a bulky man wearing only shorts and a loose, open shirt.

His partner in guard duty, resting by the door in a folding chair with an AK at his side, couldn’t hide a light grimace and roll of his eyes. Slouching down, he reached a lanky arm to scratch an itch on his back that didn’t want to go away. Trying to keep his mind of things, Arnold pulled a phone out of his cargo pants, skimming through a mess of apps in search of a time waster, something to keep his mind off things.

Hearing some slur or curse word echo out from behind him, Arnold turned his head. Newer to the group, having come around from El Salvador, he hadn’t fully acclimated to the norm. Looking out from the entryway, he saw the moored ‘Indignation’, their shipping vessel, and the stretches of warehouse around it dedicated to either storage (a crane bolted firmly in the ground propped nearby), or production, makeshift rooms with walls of translucent plastic letting off fumes of god knows what the chemists were working on. The voice actually seemed to come from the catwalks above, a few men patrolling, except two who were in each other’s face, the prior insult having developed into a budding fistfight. Another voice called out, the two looking over to the room mounted to the corner of the rooftop ceiling, seeing their employer in its open window, before reluctantly separating.

Arnold didn’t care for the work, but it paid well and it was easy. People were smart enough not to fuck with any kind of cartel usually, and between pilot and navigator, they could avoid any patrols and generally keep out of danger on the open sea. Considering how various local families benefited with members in other regions working for their sake, the area was pretty quiet and generally overlooked, and many of there spots elsewhere were no different. Considering the poison, or whatever it was, that got made and passed around to allied or unaffiliated crime groups for use in warfare, Arnold generally didn’t feel too bad about what they did, even though he knew it wasn’t right. But that was before today, when their boss ordered an abduction. Children, innocent children. Swallowing, he shook his head and went back to his phone. If he thought any more about it, his anger would bubble, but he knew it couldn’t go anywhere, else he’d be shot dead and left as fish food in the middle of the ocean.

As if to purposely pull his attention away, there was a rapping on the door. Two knocks, the fist requesting a welcome. Arnold looked to his shift partner, just as confused, before the two stood, grabbing their rifles. It wasn’t their usual procedure, and they hadn’t gotten word from any lookouts over their walkies yet.

“What the fuck is that by the door?” crackled the devices scattered around the warehouse. Arnold took it back. Look to his partner, they flanked the side door, the larger shutter nearby rusted closed and in no need of use. Reaching his hand for the door, Arnold gently twisted it.

The world came down around him. With a crash, the sheet metal walls and the door separating them from the outside crumbled down, flattening the two guards. The force dislodged dust untouched in years, debris partly obscuring a massive form as it shuffled in carelessly. Standing tall, the Hulk’s disgruntled gaze elicited grunts of surprise. But the Hulk did not turn his attention on them, they were bugs. Rifle fire raining down, the Hulk winced at the noise as he walked, unfettered. Occasionally a hand would brush away at an itchy spot that had recently met several bullets that had been traveling at 700 meters per second (only to stop dead, bouncing off his skin like it was a BB gun against tires). Mosquitoes were more dangerous to men in comparison, but unlike these gunners, mosquitoes were quiet.

That made Hulk mad.

Looking to a gun poking out of the plastic wrapped lab, Hulk reached in and yanked a screaming man out. Tossing him up and catching him again like he was a baseball, he turned to the catwalks. Pulling his arm back, he sent the man flying. He crashed into the railing, made of reclaimed scrap as it was, and shook the whole walkway. The two gunners behind the railing were knocked back as their shielding buckled and broke, the man shaped projectile knocking them down. Rocking back and forth, weak ties shattered, bolts knocking loose, the walkway they were on spilled them off unceremoniously. As the walkway hung, dangling above the ground, its former occupants lay on the floor, broken.

The rest of the warehouse had gone quiet, those remaining too starstruck to think about retaliating. Only one of them was capable of looking on without shock or distress. Those kind of things were alien to Jagger. Casually sitting in his office, one hand loosening the collar of his cheap dress shirt and briefly adjusting a gold chain, he merely watched as the Hulk moved about, ripping open the lab and kicking down tables of valuable equipment and product as if searching for something. Jagger looked to his right hand, the man expressing what he recognized to be bewilderment, fear, and anger. Jagger knew it wasn’t the time to put on any of those masks: he was calm, he liked being calm, and if there was a time for calmness, this was it.

“He wants the kids.” Jagger knew. The Hulk wasn’t a user, that was for sure. The musculature was too clean, refined. Even true Venom had a tinge of the aberrant in those utilizing it, let alone Jagger’s knock off. But there was an appeal to that. Looking down at the boat, still docked, unnoticed by the Hulk, he saw a few heads poking out, trying to get a bearing on things. Before any more violence broke out, Jagger spoke into his walkie, “Let the kids go.” A moment past, the Hulk looking around at the walkies echoing his voice, before he turned his gaze on him, standing by his window. “Just spook them a little first.”

The Hulk bared his teeth, moments before gunfire echoed from the boat, followed by children screaming in terror. The Hulk looked on, feet shuffling as he went to move into action, but hesitation reeled him in. Daring just a bit, he placed one foot on the boat, his weight shifting the whole thing, more cries of shock coming out. He retreated back a step, before a green eye glared up at Jagger, the boss feeling an uncharacteristic chill tingled in his neck. One he’d only felt twice before. Once was first time he stared down the barrel of a gun as a child, a brief feeling that went away the follow minute while he was beating the teen’s face in with a pipe. The second was when he watched Hurricane Iris rip the world around him apart, the one time in his life he felt truly helpless. And so Jagger smiled, letting the beat of his heart overcome that chill. He was deeply looking forward to the chance to bring this monster to his knees.

One Universe: World Of Heroes - A Marvel & DC Comics RPG

_{Location: Belize City, Belize}

A Green God, A Green Devil – 1.01

---

_{Interaction(s): None}

Previously: N/A

Cough cough HAGCK

Spray of spit and foam splattering in the sink, Bruce caught his breath, rinsing his mouth out before cleaning off his toothbrush. Wetting down his hands, he wiped at the freshly trimmed stubble remaining on his face. Looking around, he pulled out a razor and a can of shaving cream, pressing down on the nozzle only for it to sputter and die. Shaking his head, he went without. Putting on a pair of light purple shorts, flip flops, a plain button up blue shirt, and a wide panama hat over his mess of brown hair, a pair of hazel eyes lidded, he stepped out of the bathroom into the bedroom. If you could call it a room: it was less a room and more of a storage space for a small, rickety bed and worn down dresser that took up 60% of the floor space, the rest of it walkable in two steps. Those two steps took him to the kitchen and entryway, making up the rest of the house, the floor dingy and worn but not dirty. Most of the light came from the windows, the room becoming brighter as Bruce pulled open the door, grabbing his bike (kept stored inside for safety), and locking up before heading out.

Even in the early morning, the humid sea air and blazing sun of Belize was rough, but nothing Bruce was uncomfortable with. His skin was quite tanned: the pasty lab nerd practically a different person. His routine of biking around this district of the city with its many long paths, along with occasional labor to make ends meet, had given him a little meat on his skinny bones. Though his face was relatively clean now, in the slightly cooler months he liked to sport a beard. Stepping out into the sun, he descended a short stairwell to the ground level, looking out to the rows of small, dingy abodes, none of them older than a few years due to one hurricane or another.

Destroyed and rebuilt. That’s where Bruce was, getting down to it. He was ‘Benny’ now, a down on his luck American currently in Belize City, making it by through helping people out with odd jobs thanks to various skills and expertise, and through various handouts and favors he received from the grateful locals who supported the twice a week English classes he did for free (though he just as often taught so much else). Benny never asked for much more than a chance, and now honestly, he could say he didn’t mind things where they are. He could look up at the sky, breathe deeply, and feel as though things were alright.

It had been years since the Hulk first took to the streets of Navapo on a warpath to El Diablo Air Force Base, inviting the ire of SHIELD. And it was less than a year after that Hulk was seen for the last time, in New York. It was still a blur to Bruce, but it was the past now. Betty was better off with Bruce gone. Everyone was. Because as long as Bruce was gone, there was no more Hulk.

Setting down his bike, he pedaled off into yet another day in this run down stretch of paradise. While he could certainly envision better, nowadays he was just grateful it wasn’t so much worse.

-----

Body reminiscent of used rags, steeped in dried sweat and a faint stink from cleaning sinks, as he walked by the old docks, the wreck of so many ships in this dated port leaving it unused after a hurricane a few decades ago rendered it unwanted, while modernization occurred elsewhere, he rolled his bike along, appreciating the quiet. After his day of work the sea breeze was pleasant. The lack of ships meant that the sea scent was free of any muck or pollution: the wrecked ships and debris actually made for good sea creature habitats which allowed cleaners like mussels to live. Plus, few people were around, so it gave him a bit of quiet town. Bruce appreciated the connections he’d made, but he knew it was better to keep his distance at the end of the day.

Then, the pleasant cool went chill, as he heard a voice. A light sobbing for help. Dropping his bike, he carefully moved, trying to follow the voice. “Hello? Where are you!?” There wasn’t much on the dockside, and he had no lights with which to aid in his search, only the distant stars and glint of the moon. The voice came on louder though as his call was heard, a pained wail sounding out. Getting hasty, Bruce sped up, walking quickly until he stepped on something. Though it was largely firm, the surface had a give to it. Bruce immediately recognized its consistency as flesh. Heart nearly stopping he pulled back immediately, seeing the faint shape of an arm in the low light. “Oh god I’m sorry,” he said as he reached out, not questioning why the voice seemed to be coming from lower.

Pulling at the arm, there was no resistance. It was severed, and small, its owner no older than ten. Strangled gasp getting blocked in his throat, he dropped it, recoiling. All sound seemed to vanish as his head swam, then it came back, the panicked crying of the child still out of sight, while a dog whimpered nearby. It didn’t get any closer, the skinny mutt ragged and lost, possibly having been attracted by the scent of blood. Bruce gathered himself, looking over the edge of the dock. Resting on a piece of flotsam that was half submerged, the wounded child lay still, his voice still crying out. Body shaking, Bruce scrambled over the edge, letting himself drop into the water nearby, flip flops drifting off his feet. Testing the stability of the rotted wood, he leaned on it, scooping the child up in his arm before standing. His weight sank the wood underwater, but he still had his footing. Grabbing the lip of the dockside, he found a strength he hadn’t felt in a long time, hoisting them both up and over.

Laying the boy flat, Bruce asked, “Who did this? What happened?”

The boy spoke. “Cartel.” He was still quite out of it. Bruce’s trembling body wasn’t helping any. He hadn’t been one of Bruce’s unofficial students as far as he could tell, but that didn’t matter right now. In him, he couldn’t help but to associate those faces he’d come to know: Luca, Isabella, Micheal, Manuel. Looking up, he saw the largest building in the area, a dockside warehouse, the elephant in the room. This section of the city was often overlooked by the city at large, so protecting it from anything worse was the cartel. Whatever drug trade they did here didn’t matter as long as the people just trying to get by weren’t hurt. Some even found employment there, sent off to other regions with the money they earned coming right back home. Bruce knew of it, but never had he seen or heard of anything like this. One hand clutching his wrist, he held on with a force that would have splinted stone. His teeth gritted, the soft bones threatening to crack in his mouth. He had to rely on that pain to keep him from splitting apart.

It’s no good, he wouldn’t want your help anyway.

Cry, scream, it’s all you’re good for.

Pretend you didn’t see anything.

Trash.
What good have you ever been to anyone?

You never should have existed.

It would be better for us if we were gone. Better for everyone.

Leave him and move on, it’s for the best.

We can’t stay here if we cause trouble.

Worthless.

Keep quiet.

Be still.

Do nothing.

Bruce’s face was burning with tears. The dog got a little closer, intent on the arm. He couldn’t begin to imagine what the cartel had been doing to this place in silent, nor could he imagine what might happen if the Hulk brought them down. So many possibilities filled his brain, each of them deeply negative. But at the very least he could take him to a doctor. Starting to regain himself, Bruce looped one arm under his legs and another under his upper torso, trying to lift him.

“Friends...where are my friends..?”

Bruce’s blood ran cold. He shut his eyes, the warehouse in the distance vanishing from his sight. But despite his eyes being closed, he could see so much. He started to piece together what happened: a bunch of kids going out, or going home, surrounded by adults who had god knew what in mind. One of them tried to defend his friends, maybe at first, maybe after they started to make a move. So he was made an example of: maimed and tossed aside, disposed of. Bruce released his grip. He wasn’t holding onto anything anymore. Bruce’s eyes opened again, everything enveloped in green. He felt a deep anger bubbling inside of him. A strong desire to hurt, to cause harm. It wasn’t his. I’LL SMASH THEM

You’re just a monster. Bruce snapped up the severed arm, then shifted to turn at the dog, still inching closer. Out came a deep bellow, the blood curdling roar sending the dog running before Bruce turned off. His bare feet streaked across the pavement in the other direction. Wet footprints quickly became heavy indentations, then outright potholes, green soles crushing the road like it was snow.

I LIKE being a monster. The Hulk leapt into the sky, clearing the slums and reaching busier parts of town, where lights and cars still filled the streets. As the Hulk landed, screams followed the sounds of footfalls smashing down. And what does that make YOU?

Me? I’m with you. The anger wasn’t his, or rather, it wasn’t just his, nor was it just the Hulk’s. Not one way, not the other. Not this time.

With a wake of fear behind him, traffic stopped and jaws agape, the Hulk smashed down in front of a nearby by hospital. The quiet waiting room became filled with terror as the Hulk came through, bent down to fit, snapping and shattering the automated glass doors that were too slow for him. Unfurling his arms, as he stopped, the noise quieted down. Gently, the green mammoth placed the boy down, the severed arm flopping next to him. There were several cries of shock, calls for help. An air of tension still remained, a collective intake of breath matched with the Hulk standing, turning to go through the doors he’d busted. Stepping out on the streets, onlookers gawked, some took footage, others called for enforcement. Hulk didn’t care, they were small, puny, and couldn’t block his path if they wanted to. Bruce didn’t care, they were quiet, complacent, more inclined to keep out of danger then make any sudden moves.

This world has plenty of monsters. We’ll fit right in. And if there’s no room for us, then we’ll just smash other monsters until we find room.” The Hulk seemed to smile, rolling his neck on his shoulders to the sound of bone cracking that almost sounded like gunshots. It had been a long time since he stretched his legs after all. Sounds like I’m finally speaking your language. Bruce had never felt so lucid, felt so alive. That he was still here at all was astonishing to him. He’d been of the mind that Jekyll and Hyde could never meet, so the story went. Maybe it wouldn’t turn out for the best, but right now, Bruce didn’t have the heart to care.

“GRAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!” The Hulk’s roar echoed across Belize. Those nearby scrambled for cover, shrieking as the Hulk burst into a run, then a leap, clearing the area as the distance lights of police vehicles had only just been sent into motion. The first in a long wave, ripples of the reemergence of the Hulk that would once again shake the world. With every jump, the warehouse came closer and closer. There, he would smash. Smash and smash and smash.

Until there was nothing left to rebuild.

One Universe: World Of Heroes - A Marvel & DC Comics RPG

T H E H U L K

---

^{_{B R U C E B A N N E R ♦ N U C L E A R P H Y S I C I S T / F U G I T I V E ♦ N O R T H A M E R I C A ♦ I N D E P E N D E N T}}

C H A R A C T E R C O N C E P T:

---

^{"At this point, I don’t think I care if anyone tries to stop me."}

23 years ago, a young boy suffered deeply at the hands of the a monster who tried to turn him into another one. Two shining lights in his life dwindled to one before he was finally freed. 7 years ago, he found a life with that remaining light, and things were good. 5 years ago, he showed the world how much of a monster he really was. 4 years ago he met the monster who’d made him one, and snuffed the life from him.

The attack on Navapo, New Mexico, and El Diablo Air Force Base shook the world, and the inability of SHIELD to capture the Hulk directly led to further havoc in New York some months later. Though Hulk was captured at the end of his tantrum, he would come to escape, few prepared to contain such a powerful superhuman. Since then, while he occupied a specific place in the cultural consciousness, one that couldn’t be overlooked, luckily, for many who remained fearful, his escape resulted in the Hulk virtually vanishing, largely unheard of outside of fanciful, unsubstantiated rumor.

Bruce still lives, having escaped to Central America in an attempt to live peacefully, divorced from the self he aimed to bury. But nothing is meant to be repressed forever.

C H A R A C T E R M O T I V A T I O N S & G O A L S:

---

Spiritually succeeding the iteration of the character I played in the past, by jumping ahead to year 5, I’ll be able to skip a lot of that introduction (with the freedom to flashback if needed) and put Hulk in a much more free position to interact with other players. As a character with a lot of baggage, both mentally and given his place in recent history, there’s definitely a lot of potential given the inevitable discord between League and Avengers, not even just with Bruce, but Ross as well. All while Brian (spoilers, not dead) continues his machinations in the shadows.

This Bruce is one a bit less reserved. A once shy nerd having been thrown out into a harsh world, he’s fed up with sitting down and telling himself to put up with it if it means overlooking wrongdoing. Why should he run and hide while plenty of other monsters do business in the world openly? Of course, the Hulk won’t be so easy to tame, and no matter what he tries to do there will be those who refuse to accept him, and those who refuse to let him be accepted.

C H A R A C T E R N O T E S:

---

Elizabeth “Betty” Ross – Bruce’s childhood friend. Largely a reporter on cultural matters (metas and heroes in particular), she also grew up with Bruce, and was his girlfriend before his transformation into the Hulk.
General Thaddeus “Thunderbolt” Ross (to potentially become The Red Hulk) – Betty’s protective father and member of the US Air Force. Highly distrustful of metas, he’s been an active internal proponent of anti-meta measures and resources. Given that he fundamentally can’t respect or trust a superhero or meta who didn’t come from a modern military background first when it comes to metahuman matters, he’s only tolerant of the Avengers while not trusting the Justice League whatsoever.
Brian Banner (the Leader) – Bruce’s abusive father. Killed by the Hulk in New York several years ago. In the chaos of Hulk’s rampage, his body wasn’t found, so despite witness testimony and evidence, he has legally been declared missing.
Emil Blonsky (the Abomination) – A soldier injured in the Hulk’s attack in New Mexico. Through experimental science, he’s been given another chance, currently serving as the head of Ross’ Hulkbuster squad.
Benjamin Tibbets (to become Flux) – A young Marine soldier.
Rick Jones – Scientist at Fendi Labs, friend of Bruce’s. Formerly worked with him at El Diablo Air Force Base before the accident that transformed him into the Hulk.

S A M P L E P O S T:

---

Cough cough HAGCK

Spray of spit and foam splattering in the sink, Bruce caught his breath, rinsing his mouth out before cleaning off his toothbrush. Wetting down his hands, he wiped at the freshly trimmed stubble remaining on his face. Looking around, he pulled out a razor and a can of shaving cream, pressing down on the nozzle only for it to sputter and die. Shaking his head, he went without. Putting on a pair of light purple shorts, flip flops, a plain button up blue shirt, and a wide panama hat over his mess of brown hair, a pair of hazel eyes lidded, he stepped out of the bathroom into the bedroom, largely consisting of a small, rickety bed and worn down dresser taking up 60% of the floor space, the rest walkable in two steps. Those two steps took him to the kitchen and entryway, making up the rest of the house, the floor dingy and worn but not dirty. Most of the light came from the windows, the room becoming brighter as Bruce pulled open the door, grabbing his bike (kept stored inside for safety), and locking up before heading out.

Even in the early morning, the humid sea air and blazing sun of Belize was rough, but nothing Bruce was uncomfortable with. His skin was quite tanned: the pasty lab nerd practically a different person. His routine of biking around this district of the city with its many long paths, along with occasional labor to make ends meet, had given him a little meat on his skinny bones. Though his face was relatively clean now, in the slightly cooler months he liked to sport a beard. Stepping out into the sun, descending a short stairwell to the ground level, looking out to the rows of small, dingy abodes, none of them older than a few years due to one hurricane or another.

Destroyed and rebuilt. That’s where Bruce was, getting down to it. He was ‘Benny’ now, a down on his luck American currently in Belize City, making it by through helping people out with odd jobs thanks to various skills and expertise, and through various handouts and favors he received from the grateful locals who supported the twice a week English classes he did for free. Benny never asked for much more than a chance, and now honestly, he could say he didn’t mind things where they are. He could look up at the sky, breathe deeply, and feel as though things were alright.

It had been years since the Hulk first took to the streets of Navapo on a warpath to El Diablo Air Force Base, inviting the ire of SHIELD. And it was less than a year after that Hulk was seen for the last time, in New York. It was still a blur to Bruce, but it was the past now. Betty was better off with Bruce gone. Everyone was. Because as long as Bruce was gone, there was no more Hulk.

Setting down his bike, he pedaled off into yet another day in this run down stretch of paradise. While he could certainly envision better, nowadays he was just grateful it wasn’t so much worse.

P O S T C A T A L O G:

---

A Green God, A Green Devil

1.01
1.02
1.03
1.04

United States v. Banner

2.01
2.02

One Universe: World Of Heroes - A Marvel & DC Comics RPG

T H E H U L K

---

^{_{B R U C E B A N N E R ♦ N U C L E A R P H Y S I C I S T / F U G I T I V E ♦ N O R T H A M E R I C A ♦ I N D E P E N D E N T}}

C H A R A C T E R C O N C E P T:

---

^{"At this point, I don’t think I care if anyone tries to stop me."}

23 years ago, a young boy suffered deeply at the hands of the a monster who tried to turn him into another one. Two shining lights in his life dwindled to one before he was finally freed. 7 years ago, he found a life with that remaining light, and things were good. 5 years ago, he showed the world how much of a monster he really was. 4 years ago he met the monster who’d made him one, and snuffed the life from him.

The attack on Navapo, New Mexico, and El Diablo Air Force Base shook the world, and the inability of SHIELD to capture the Hulk directly led to further havoc in New York some months later. Though Hulk was captured at the end of his tantrum, he would come to escape, few prepared to contain such a powerful superhuman. Since then, while he occupied a specific place in the cultural consciousness, one that couldn’t be overlooked, luckily, for many who remained fearful, his escape resulted in the Hulk virtually vanishing, largely unheard of outside of fanciful, unsubstantiated rumor.

Bruce still lives, having escaped to Central America in an attempt to live peacefully, divorced from the self he aimed to bury. But nothing is meant to be repressed forever.

C H A R A C T E R M O T I V A T I O N S & G O A L S:

---

Spiritually succeeding the iteration of the character I played in the past, by jumping ahead to year 5, I’ll be able to skip a lot of that introduction (with the freedom to flashback if needed) and put Hulk in a much more free position to interact with other players. As a character with a lot of baggage, both mentally and given his place in recent history, there’s definitely a lot of potential given the inevitable discord between League and Avengers, not even just with Bruce, but Ross as well. All while Brian (spoilers, not dead) continues his machinations in the shadows.

This Bruce is one a bit less reserved. A once shy nerd having been thrown out into a harsh world, he’s fed up with sitting down and telling himself to put up with it if it means overlooking wrongdoing. Why should he run and hide while plenty of other monsters do business in the world openly? Of course, the Hulk won’t be so easy to tame, and no matter what he tries to do there will be those who refuse to accept him, and those who refuse to let him be accepted.

C H A R A C T E R N O T E S:

---

Elizabeth “Betty” Ross – Bruce’s childhood friend. Largely a reporter on cultural matters (metas and heroes in particular), she also grew up with Bruce, and was his girlfriend before his transformation into the Hulk.
General Thaddeus “Thunderbolt” Ross (to potentially become The Red Hulk) – Betty’s protective father and member of the US Air Force. Highly distrustful of metas, he’s been an active internal proponent of anti-meta measures and resources. Given that he fundamentally can’t respect or trust a superhero or meta who didn’t come from a modern military background first when it comes to metahuman matters, he’s only tolerant of the Avengers while not trusting the Justice League whatsoever.
Brian Banner (the Leader) – Bruce’s abusive father. Killed by the Hulk in New York several years ago. In the chaos of Hulk’s rampage, his body wasn’t found, so despite witness testimony and evidence, he has legally been declared missing.
Emil Blonsky (the Abomination) – a soldier injured in the Hulk’s attack in New Mexico. Through experimental science, he’s been given another chance, currently the head of Ross’ Hulkbuster squad.
Benjamin Tibbets (to become Flux) – A young Marine soldier.

S A M P L E P O S T:

---

Cough cough HAGCK

Spray of spit and foam splattering in the sink, Bruce caught his breath, rinsing his mouth out before cleaning off his toothbrush. Wetting down his hands, he wiped at the freshly trimmed stubble remaining on his face. Looking around, he pulled out a razor and a can of shaving cream, pressing down on the nozzle only for it to sputter and die. Shaking his head, he went without. Putting on a pair of light purple shorts, flip flops, a plain button up blue shirt, and a wide panama hat over his mess of brown hair, a pair of hazel eyes lidded, he stepped out of the bathroom into the bedroom, largely consisting of a small, rickety bed and worn down dresser taking up 60% of the floor space, the rest walkable in two steps. Those two steps took him to the kitchen and entryway, making up the rest of the house, the floor dingy and worn but not dirty. Most of the light came from the windows, the room becoming brighter as Bruce pulled open the door, grabbing his bike (kept stored inside for safety), and locking up before heading out.

Even in the early morning, the humid sea air and blazing sun of Belize was rough, but nothing Bruce was uncomfortable with. His skin was quite tanned: the pasty lab nerd practically a different person. His routine of biking around this district of the city with its many long paths, along with occasional labor to make ends meet, had given him a little meat on his skinny bones. Though his face was relatively clean now, in the slightly cooler months he liked to sport a beard. Stepping out into the sun, descending a short stairwell to the ground level, looking out to the rows of small, dingy abodes, none of them older than a few years due to one hurricane or another.

Destroyed and rebuilt. That’s where Bruce was, getting down to it. He was ‘Benny’ now, a down on his luck American currently in Belize City, making it by through helping people out with odd jobs thanks to various skills and expertise, and through various handouts and favors he received from the grateful locals who supported the twice a week English classes he did for free. Benny never asked for much more than a chance, and now honestly, he could say he didn’t mind things where they are. He could look up at the sky, breathe deeply, and feel as though things were alright.

It had been years since the Hulk first took to the streets of Navapo on a warpath to El Diablo Air Force Base, inviting the ire of SHIELD. And it was less than a year after that Hulk was seen for the last time, in New York. It was still a blur to Bruce, but it was the past now. Betty was better off with Bruce gone. Everyone was. Because as long as Bruce was gone, there was no more Hulk.

Setting down his bike, he pedaled off into yet another day in this run down stretch of paradise. While he could certainly envision better, nowadays he was just grateful it wasn’t so much worse.

P O S T C A T A L O G:

---

A Green God, A Green Devil

TBA

One Universe: World Of Heroes - A Marvel Comics / DC Comics Crossover RPG!

Might wild out and join. Or Hulk out, if you will.

I also had an idea I was thinking of using in DC Genesis (though I'd been pretty busy so I never got around to finishing it), but the idea of starting the Hulk's story a few years after his emergence gave me some ideas and got me juiced creatively, so I might use that other idea later.

One Piece: A Golden Age, A Dark Age - The Boozehound Chronicles

"Hmph! Very well then, we'll disband."

With those words, Momo left, heading off without a word to her peers. Confused and disappointed, the Azure Company lieutenants gradually dispersed over the course of the next few minutes. Knowing Chester was likely to head to the Grand Line, Momo had full intent to merely continue the organization, but her attempts to contact others after the fact were met with suspicion due to her departure from the Great Stag Archipelago. In an attempt to find a new leader, in fighting occurred, the next months lending to a chaotic battle with no clear winner, many Azure Company groups disbanding or shedding their colors and their ideals, as power didn't mean much if it could not create order. Losing their muscle, the rest of the Four Color Companies would similarly struggle, their fates unknowable in the coming times as their grasp on the affairs of the Blue continued to slip, perceptions fostered by their decisive loss at the Four Color Festival.

Letting out a sigh of relief as the Azure boats headed off, Lina slouched over the ship railing, relieved.

"Maybe we should move on already..."

The Great Horn Archipelago quieting down, dwindling back to the norm, the festival well and over, the poorly named Grog Crusaders would leave later that day with little word of their departure, even if the ripples of influence they left remained in the relative peace. A quiet, swift end to a loud and protracted battle.

---

"Hmmmm..."

"Hmm?"

A finger tapped on a writeup on the desk. "Hmm!"

"Hmmmm..."

The two soldiers, surrounded by desks in the heart of Marineford, hmmed and hmmmmmed. Their information was sparse on the mysterious Hero of Melonberry, allegedly called 'Chest'. As a pirate, Lieutenant Commander Condroy recognized that he should be marked for the crime of flying a pirate flag, but to be frank, aside from that, it didn't seem like he had done much wrong. While he had beaten Boss "Iron" Cerulean, a man worth 30 million, did that mean he was of a similar threat level to that mob boss known for his power? It's not like he was a particular menace. The picture taken of him, a close up up his head and upper torso, the man looking up at to the side of the frame with a dazed look on his face and some notable dirt on parts of his clothes and face, was said to be taken at the moment he was waking up from a drunken nap. Hardly threatening, really.

Scratching at his peach fuzz, the young Condroy looked up as he heard footsteps behind him. White Justice coat trailing behind him, jaw squared and clean shaven, Vice Admiral Trench, in his dark green suit leaned in with a smile, "Who's this?"

"Ah, he's called Chest or something, new bounty I'm trying to figure out. He hasn't even done an-" Condroy went quiet as he looked up to see his comrade go pale. Confused, he looked around, seeing Trench, someone he's only known to be a jovial sort, with a face gripped in raw derision. Large hand grasping Condroy by the back of his head, Trench forced him to look at the image.

"Is the Marine information network so bad that the file for this man didn't include that he's a former Marine?"

"N-no sir."

"Are you really struggling to determine how much of a heinous criminal such a traitor is for shedding a flag of blue and white for black?"

"But sir he hasn't done anyth-"

Condroy's words were interrupted by the splintering of wood as he was forced through his desk to the ground, the room rumbling from the impact. Lifting his hand, Trench spat, "Commanding Justice! Marines follow their orders, and those who can't aren't worth saving! Chester D. Arnold...no, just Chester Arnold. 50 million minimum!" Trench slowed his roll, looking to the terrified junior, then down to the unconscious Condroy. "Tell him when he wakes up. He can decide the epithet himself for all I care."

Storming from the office, Trench took to some of the halls before coming out to a balcony, the path looping around to another corner of the floor. Looking down over the structure of Marineford, he shook his head. What was once a great Marine base, while still serving as a hotspot and the center of Marine activity across the world, was filled with decay, empty and dilapidated structures they no longer had the funding or manpower to refurbish. Hacking out a glob of spit, it hurtled well out of sight on the way to the ground far below.

Not even a century of peace after a battle with no winner, and all Trench could think of was what had been lost.

One Piece: A Golden Age, A Dark Age - The Boozehound Chronicles

Rolling her pipe in her hand, Momo had a slight smile on her face. "Very well then. Laid out by Don Mono regarding the formation of the Four Color Companies, as leader of the Azure Company, you will have to take part in the yearly meets. Management of clerical tasks regarding the company will defer to your immediate subordinates to defer at your discretion. You will need to get in contact with the former Cerulean's men to organize the logistics, and also open up contract lines regarding the Blue-wide affairs of the organization, which include resource procurement, shipping, police and bodyguard detail, and subjugation of rebel groups in our territories. Contact will often involve direct dealings with your lieutenants. While generally we can manage ourselves, you will have to memorize our affairs and respond to any queries in the event we need to defer to you, any of the 42 of us throughout the Blue. Should you become involved with the affairs of another company then it would be best you better acquaint yourself with their structures and key members. Also..."

Lina was a fair distance away, not able to make anything specific out, but at the very least there was no fighting...

One Piece: A Golden Age, A Dark Age - The Boozehound Chronicles

Macario nowhere in sight, Lina keeping low, Kuhn on his way, word sent out to Chester, the encroaching fleet made landfall. From each ship, over a score of blue suited men headed by leaders not wholly conforming to the usual dress code began to assemble. An aficionado with bounty's would recognize over half a dozen names, all under 10 million but feared in their own right. 'Bruiser' Boddy, 'Blue' Blaize, 'Wrecker' Roadan, Silfeed 'the Slimeball'. But among those others were ones that had not been quite recognized, yet the fact that they stood alongside one another meant that they were not to be overlooked: John John Johnsey, Kerbilia, Masquerade Doxeen, Lady Momo.

Oh this could be baaad, Lina worried fearfully. Keeping to herself, sword at hand if needed, she merely observed as they communicated with one another. A few goons scattered off, intent on something. For a moment Lina was prepared to go after one of them, but having some eyes at the ready didn't seem like a bad idea either. This was the hotspot as far as potentially risky opponents went, a couple goons wouldn't cause anyone any trouble.

After a bit of waiting, Lina let out a sigh of relief, Kuhn coming in, guns at his side. He wasn't alone but Kuhn had been the only thing Lina was relieved to see: Chester was as filthy and buzzed as ever. Though, even as Lina frowned, she quickly realized that his natural state was only a detriment some of the time.

The group of Azure Company Lieutenants facing off with Chester, Kuhn a few steps back, Lina only caught some of what they said, "Now...beaten Boss...we hence...defeat you or...waive that...you as leader!"

At that, the leaders all collectively bent the knee, or bowed in their own way. Just as Lina could faintly hear them, they, Chester, and Kuhn could likely hear Lina's faint "Ehhhhh!?" she'd burst out in response.

One Piece: A Golden Age, A Dark Age - The Boozehound Chronicles

"BOSS CHESTER, BABY!"

"Oh no," Lina whispered, terror palpable and still mounting.

Luckily, it was not much cause of concern (yet), Chester's goodwill sparing many from being rounded up. Cerulean was the one major exception, his authority a potential threat to the emerging peace, Saff hard to excuse due to his attack on the king. Within the company his defeat sent ripples to his lieutenants across the Blue, the shock and anger quickly morphing into determination, sails unfurling compasses set to the Great Horn Archipelago.

---

The coming week was one of rest and recovery. With the coming and going of the Four Color Festival, and the security offered by Johannes, the conflict with the Companies faded quietly, both sides going back to their business with their losses taken, some more than others.

The mission of the Balder Knights completed, the man had taken his leave with no small fanfare. The 'Hero of Melonberry' was something of a mystery, one not easily associated with the loud drunk, Chester, who'd been making himself infamous in ways the Hero was famous. Surely, no one in their right minds would even entertain the possibility of them being one in the same. With Johannes' parting, he merely left a message for Chester, faring him and his crew well.

Tidying up the Breeze, Lina slipped off her navy blue hat, fanning herself with it, before taking a look at the horizon, seeing a number of vessels in the distance. Squinting her eyes, the sails of blue seemed ominous. Alone on the ship, to her knowledge, she swallowed, keeping a low profile, hoping it was nothing major.

Absolute Comics - Justice Rising

_{Location: New York City, New York}

Hounded – 3.04

---

_{Interaction(s): None}

Previously: 3.03

Feet sluggishly tramping down another alleyway, Bruce had an awkward sway in his step. The chill air of New York’s night in this winter was nothing to turn up a nose at. Falling asleep at the wrong place could prove to be unfortunate, but spots of warmth would often be targets for patrolling officers herding the wayward homeless away. If Bruce had known of spots free from that kind of policing then he wouldn’t need to keep up his walk, his movement intended to keep warmth coming from his body. His legs could take it, certain, but at this point he was more afraid of his mind. No progress was being made, much of his time spent on getting by day to day rather than finding Brian. Maybe that was fine. He hated living like this but it would get better in the coming months when the weather cleared. But...no, he quickly realized. It wouldn’t last. He couldn’t last. He’d felt it when seeing people herded out of a subway station. He was going to try and stay the night there, as he’d seen others doing, but bad luck left him bearing witness to police forcing them outside in the middle of a freezing night. He hadn’t even been a part of it, yet he still felt frustration. Anger that those who’d been at their lowest from whatever circumstance or sacrifice, incidental or deserved, were now being pushed around and put at even further risk. His head as throbbed, but the moment he felt a flash of green he ran from those emotions.

And now it was even worse. Sitting so low for so long, Bruce looked up and saw skyscrapers hemming in the starless night sky, knowing that if he looked back down he’d see the struggle and despair in those at his level. Those who’d been crushed and could not move. But Bruce could move, and act, and that was exactly what he was afraid of.

Ears perking up as he heard a dull thud around the corner, Bruce was glad to be ripped out of the shades of his mind, if only for a moment. That relief was gone as soon as he turned the corner, immediately ducking backwards. It was just a glimpse, but that brief moment of sight quickly contextualized everything he could hear from now as he witnessed a man being mugged. 3 others, maybe 4, surrounded him. Maybe he was fighting back, but Bruce couldn’t tell, aside from the pounding of fist on flesh, the scuffle of shoe scraping against the moist alleyway pavement. At one point there was a cracking sound, then the stomping of legs breaking out into a run.

And Bruce didn’t do a thing. He didn’t even think about lifting a finger, just of keeping his head down and letting it pass. Any twinge of anger he felt at the idea of someone victimized for no reason needed to be suppressed. Had to be suppressed. And once it was over he peeked his head out. Someone in a winter coat lay flat on his front, arms angled oddly from the fall. A faint light caught his eye, Bruce dared to get closer, spotting a phone on the ground. Leaning in, he noticed why it hadn’t been taken: the screen was cracked from the scuffle. Not knowing the state the man was in, Bruce picked it up, seeing that it was on a call screen, ‘91’ dialed. Swallowing, he struggled with the cracked touch screen, hands trembling as he pushed the screen away, pulling up a browser, using some of the phone’s data for his own ends. He’d thought about what he might search for some time now, and it came as easily as the broken screen would allow. And finally he had a street name, an address. Glancing down at the man, his feelings were muted. His relief at his goal being within sight had overshadowed any pity he felt at the victim, and that in itself sent a pit down his throat and through his stomach. Going back to the call screen, he finished the emergency number, letting it get picked up before immediately hanging up and placing the phone down. He had no idea if it would work, basing his actions off of things learned second hand, but as he moved on he wasn’t looking back. He couldn’t look back, for every moment he lingered on those events was another moment he’d regret. And he couldn’t regret it, for had he gotten involved he might not be able to hold himself back. He told himself inaction was for the best because he had to believe it.

Going to a main road, Bruce had no intention of skulking about anymore. His expression was cold, and approaching the first person he saw, an older man whose wrinkles deepened as he was forced to acknowledge Bruce’s state of filth, he stood his ground, too desperate to think of others at the moment.

His voice came, raspy, and broken, words unintelligible. Clearing his throat of what felt likes weeks of bile and mucus with a guttural hacking, Bruce finally spoke. “Where’s Neapolitan street?