Brooklyn Bridge.
The taxi came to a crooked stop on the bridge deck; the road ahead was blocked by an overturned military truck.
The roar of Hulk came from the distance, and the entire bridge was trembling.
The taxi driver was a chubby, middle-aged white man, and at this moment, his fingers gripped the steering wheel so tightly that his knuckles had turned white.
“Man.” The driver turned his head to look at Luke, his eyes filled with fear.
“Let’s get out of here!
I’m begging you!” Luke leaned back in the rear seat, his phone pressed to his ear, and held up a finger to the driver.
“Wait.” The driver almost burst into tears: “No, didn’t you see that green thing?
That monster can crush a tank like it’s Play-Doh!” Luke put down his phone and glanced at the driver.
“I’ll give you twenty thousand dollars.” The driver was stunned.
“Just wait for me here.” “This isn’t about the money!” the driver’s voice cracked.
“I have parents to support and kids to raise; I don’t want to die here!” Luke sighed.
He understood.
It was human nature.
Seeking advantages and avoiding harm is a biological instinct; you can’t ask a fish to climb a tree, and you can’t ask a taxi driver to remain calm in front of Hulk.
“How about this,” Luke pulled out his wallet.
“I’ll buy this car from you; you can leave on your own.” The driver’s eyes widened, and his Adam’s apple bobbed.
He looked at Luke.
Then he looked at the green figure in the distance.
Then he looked back at Luke.
Then he nodded.
The deal was struck.
Taking the money, the driver bent over, hunched his neck, and ran away along the bridge, moving so fast that his knees were almost hitting his chin.
When people are afraid, their physical abilities often break through their limits.
Luke sat in the driver’s seat and picked up his phone again.
“Director, you heard that too.” On the other end of the line, there was silence from Fury.
Luke smiled.
“Hurry up, or I won’t have the money to buy the car.” Fury’s breathing came through the phone, heavy, like a bull pushed to its limit.
Luke added.
“You wouldn’t want word to get around among the new Agents that ‘S.H.I.E.L.D.
won’t even reimburse the cost of a car,’ would you?” There was silence on the other end for three seconds.
“…Are you threatening me?” “I’m reporting on my operational expenses.” Fury took a deep breath.
Luke could almost imagine the expression on that single eye right now—like he had swallowed a lemon-flavored bullet.
“Transfer the money to him,” Fury said to the person beside him.
On the helicopter.
The communications officer operated the controls for a few moments, and the transfer was complete.
General Ross sat opposite him, having remained silent the entire time.
His eyes were narrowed, and his jaw was set like a slab of iron.
This General’s face was never designed for smiling, and at this moment, it was cold enough to freeze coffee.
“One million dollars an hour.” General Ross finally spoke, his voice flat, like the surface of a frozen winter lake.
“Is this how the country’s money is spent?” He glanced at Fury.
“I will definitely report this.” Fury didn’t look at him.
He stared out the window; the Brooklyn Bridge spread out below, like a bone spanning across the river.
There was a tiny figure on the bridge deck, walking in the direction of Hulk.
“Do as you please.” Fury said.
“It’s not about how much money it costs, but whether it’s worth it.” General Ross snorted.
Fury turned his head and looked at the General calmly.
“You’ve been trying to capture Hulk for three years, General.
How much money has that cost?” General Ross didn’t answer.
He didn’t need to answer.
He knew that number better than anyone.
The deployment costs for armored battalions, the operational costs for helicopters, the procurement costs for military equipment smashed by Hulk, and the medical expenses for the soldiers sent to the hospital.
An astronomical figure.
The result?
Zero.
“I give one of my Agents some money,” Fury said, “and he can guarantee that he’ll stop Hulk.” “Guarantee?” General Ross chewed on the word, as if he had bitten into sand.
He stood up, walked to the porthole, and looked down at the tiny figure on the bridge.
The figure’s pace was slow, even leisurely, as if he were taking a stroll in the park.
General Ross sneered.
“You had better not be joking with me.” He turned around and looked at Fury.
“Otherwise, just based on these tall claims you’ve made today—” General Ross pointed a finger in Fury’s direction.
“You’re finished.” Fury didn’t retort.
Because this wasn’t a threat.
It was a statement of fact.
General Ross sat back down, crossed his arms over his chest, and kept his gaze fixed outside the window.
He had only one thought in his mind.
One person.
Stop Hulk.
On what grounds?
Fury ignored General Ross’s attitude.
He put the tablet back on the communications officer’s desk, his gaze settling back on the coordinates of Luke’s location on the screen.
He had never seen Luke go all out.
Not even once.
Data from the training grounds, performance during missions, reports from Barton—all the information stitched together formed a silhouette.
But the edges of that silhouette were blurry, like a photograph that was forever out of focus.
No one knew where the upper limit of this person lay.
But Fury remembered one thing.
Luke was afraid of death.
There was no doubt about that.
If he could take an elevator, he would never take the stairs; if he could drive, he would never walk; his threshold for injury during training was ridiculously low, and a mere scrape could send him to the Medical Department to loaf around for an entire afternoon.
Someone who cherished his life so much was now standing on the Brooklyn Bridge, waiting for Hulk.
Either he was crazy.
Or he had the capability.
Fury chose to bet on the latter.
On the Brooklyn Bridge.
Luke’s phone vibrated.
A payment notification.
He looked down at the screen; the number was beautiful.
Six zeros, lined up neatly like soldiers in formation.
The corners of his mouth curled up.
Warm words and concern aren’t as good as a huge payment.
The Director’s funds—no, the justice of an Admiral, is really great.
He tucked his phone back into his pocket and looked up.
There was no need to look up anymore.
Because Hulk was already standing in front of him.
To be precise, Hulk wasn’t just standing in front of him; Hulk had leaped over from three hundred meters away in a single bound.
The moment he landed, the bridge deck cracked; the asphalt shattered like a biscuit, and two fissures spread toward Luke’s feet.
The bridge deck beneath Luke’s feet shook.
He looked down at the cracks but didn’t move.
Hulk was just five meters away.
Seeing Hulk up close was a completely different matter from seeing him on a screen.
Standing at two point eight meters tall, the muscles all over his body undulated as if they were alive.
Every deltoid muscle was bigger than Luke’s head.
His skin was a deep olive green, covered in a thin layer of sweat that shimmered in the sunset.
He was panting.
Every exhalation was like a small storm, blowing Luke’s hair back.
Hulk’s eyes were blood-red, his pupils contracted into pinpricks, locked firmly onto the human blocking his path.
Oppression.
Pure, physical oppression.
It was like standing in front of a green wall that could collapse at any moment.
Luke looked at Hulk.
Hulk looked at Luke.
The bridge’s steel cables hummed in the wind.
In the distance, there were sirens, the sound of helicopter propellers, and the screams of the crowd.
But all these sounds seemed to be muffled by a layer of glass.
The corners of Luke’s mouth twitched.
He spoke.
“Have you ever been hit by a Light Speed Kick?” Hulk tilted his head.
This green behemoth clearly didn’t understand the meaning of the sentence.
But his instincts told him that the tiny human in front of him wasn’t afraid like the others.
Not being afraid meant he was a threat.
Hulk took a breath, his chest expanding, and his mouth pulled back to reveal two rows of teeth that would give any dentist nightmares.
He prepared to charge.
Luke slowly raised his right leg.
The movement was very slow, so slow it was like performing Tai Chi.
Knee raised, lower leg folded, toes pointing forward.
Very casual.
Like kicking a pebble on the roadside.
And then.
Golden light shone.
It didn’t just flash.
The entire Brooklyn Bridge was illuminated.
Golden radiance exploded from Luke’s right foot, like the Sun exploding on the tip of his shoe.
In an instant.
Even shorter than an instant.
At the very same moment the light ignited, Hulk’s body was no longer in its original spot.
He was sent flying.