Brazil, Rio de Janeiro, the Vidigal slum.
Natasha, dressed in a black off-the-shoulder gown resembling an evening dress, draped in a sable stole, strolled nonchalantly through the nearly deserted corners of the slum.
As she walked like a model on a runway, she spoke to the air.
"Sri Lanka, Sambava, Cape Town, and now Rio de Janeiro? Is this the pattern?"
After speaking, she carefully listened to the voice coming through her earpiece.
"Natasha, that giant has long mastered anti-tracking techniques through constant entanglements with the military.
No one could have imagined he would leap into the sea from Sri Lanka and swim all the way to South America before coming ashore!"
"What a surprise. Aside from Brazil, I have at least six other suspected locations to explore. I truly appreciate the Intelligence Department's hard work!"
Natasha scoffed sarcastically, then found a sufficiently hidden small house.
After handing the owner a suitable amount of money, Natasha casually flashed the pistol holstered on her thigh.
The owner immediately abandoned any thoughts of robbery or assault, intending to leave with his daughter.
But for some reason, looking at the pitiful little girl the owner was leading, Natasha seemed to see her younger self.
"Wait!"
She couldn't help but wave her hand, stopping the father and daughter.
"Let your daughter work for me. I'll give you enough money, but the only condition is that you must never appear in front of her again. Agreed?"
After speaking, Natasha looked at the girl's face, which bore faint bruises.
The girl was instantly stunned, then fiercely lowered her head. Her thin chin almost touched her equally emaciated chest, a result of malnutrition.
"Damn Americans, this is my daughter! Not everything can be measured by money!"
The owner snarled at Natasha, but after Natasha indifferently smiled and extended her other leg from the long skirt, revealing a miniature submachine gun and a dagger, he quickly changed his tune.
Moments later, the owner chuckled dryly, revealing his filthy teeth. He extended his right hand, holding up five fingers.
"More money!"
"Deal!"
And so, in Natasha's temporary residence in Brazil, a diligent little maid was added.
Three full days passed…
Natasha scoured all the suspected locations where the Hulk might appear, and SHIELD finally confirmed the Hulk's true location.
It was in the Montevideu settlement, about eighty kilometers from the Vidigal slum.
He was disguised as a doctor—or rather, he was practicing medicine.
Recently, he would leave Montevideu and come to Rio de Janeiro for a consultation.
So Natasha waited there.
During the wait, Natasha and her little maid—or rather, the now SHIELD reserve agent—had a good chat.
Natasha's heart was pierced more than once by the girl's brutally honest words.
"Why did you buy me? I'm not a virgin. My father sold my first time to the neighbor two years ago."
"I don't know what I'm good at. Crying, maybe? I always like to hide and cry. That's what I'm best at."
"You say I'm an agent now, a reserve agent. So what do I need to do? Can I just live like this? It's too happy."
Faced with such a girl, Natasha could only embrace her and say:
"You don't need to be good at anything. Because your slightly sorrowful expression can even stop the most terrifying monsters!
So, just be yourself. That's enough!"
And tonight, it was the little girl's turn to be herself.
…
Bruce Banner never denied his luck.
Among those exposed to gamma radiation, only he survived.
But he also never denied his misfortune.
Even alive, he could only scrape by.
Immensely powerful, yet uncontrollable.
To fight, he had to lose himself.
To retreat, it wasn't his choice!
His proudest achievement in life was his research on gamma radiation.
It was the key to his now nightmare-like existence.
His Pandora's Box, built and opened by himself.
Even hatred seemed to have no target.
Because the person he hated most gave birth to the person he loved most.
Wearing tattered shirts and coats, walking on dirty, damp soil.
He carried a nearly broken medical kit, trudging through the crowded and chaotic slum.
Destruction was something he had done too many times.
Even if it wasn't his intention, he had brought too much ruin.
Now, it seemed only salvation could bring him solace.
He entered a room where a patient lay on a broken straw mat.
A middle-aged woman, her face marked with red lesions resembling frostbite.
"Systemic lupus erythematosus!"
He concluded in an instant.
Yes, he was practicing medicine, hoping to find his nearly numb heart by saving others.
But it was useless.
Because there were too many incurable diseases in the world, and too many people he couldn't save.
Like this woman with lupus—she was too poor, her environment too harsh, facilities inadequate. She could only wait to die.
Bruce Banner helplessly looked at the ceiling, his beard overgrown like weeds.
What more could he do?
Of course, move on to the next patient.
"Hello, I… my mom… she's sick, she's been vomiting all day, hasn't eaten anything…"
It seemed to be a little girl's voice, tinged with sobs. Banner turned toward the sound.
A child, small and thin, her slightly swollen abdomen indicated indigestion, her jaundiced skin pointed to liver dysfunction, her lifeless eyes and flaky hair—this girl had been malnourished for far too long.
Yet she was still offering him a small handful of the lowest denomination currency.
"Please, I only have this much money, please!"
The girl's pleas echoed, her nearly rotten banknotes trembling in her hands.
She shouldn't be holding those filthy bills, shaking them in this disgusting place.
She should be holding a bouquet, waving to the boy she admired at sports meets and basketball courts.
Thinking this, Bruce felt a pang of pity.
After a moment's thought, he said:
"This isn't about money!"
…
Yes, it wasn't about money. Who could bear to take this girl's last bit of cash?
Bruce Banner followed the girl to her home.
As they walked, Banner's heart sank.
The place was too remote. No one would want to live there.
Especially a patient. Slum patients preferred to lie in more populated areas, hoping to catch the pity of some noble soul to extend their life.
But here… could it be what he thought?
The girl opened the door. Inside, it was dark.
Bruce had just reached the bedroom door when he saw the girl, who had entered before him, had already escaped like a monkey through the window.
Banner understood and turned back. A woman in a black evening gown, draped in a sable stole, with flowing red hair, smiled gently at him.
The woman smiled, so Banner smiled too.
"If you're not her mother, or if you are, then the mother she mentioned isn't sick, right?"
Banner asked. Natasha nodded.
Seeing the woman's hair sway, Banner sighed in relief.