When Bruce opened his eyes, they were no longer his normal dark blue but an eerie, glowing light green. The soldiers stepped back in shock, their weapons still trained on him, but their confidence wavering.
Ross stormed back into the plant, his face a mask of fury. "What's the hold u—shit!" he yelled, his eyes widening at the sight of Bruce's eyes. "Open fire! Now!"
The soldiers hesitated for a split second, their fear palpable, before unleashing a hail of bullets. The deafening roar of gunfire filled the room, the muzzle flashes illuminating the dark, oppressive space. Bruce's body convulsed as he fought to keep the Hulk at bay, each bullet a painful reminder of his struggle.
"Don't let up!" Ross bellowed, his voice cutting through the chaos. "Take him down!"
Bruce's heart pounded in his chest, the anger and fear threatening to consume him. He could feel the Hulk clawing at the edges of his consciousness, the monster within desperate to break free. His muscles tensed, his skin prickling with the familiar sensation of transformation.
"The soldiers' faces were set in grim determination, their fingers tightening on their triggers. But as the bullets continued to strike Bruce, their confidence began to waver. The room was filled with the acrid smell of gunpowder and the sound of Bruce's ragged breaths.
"Fall back!" Ross shouted, realizing the futility of their efforts. "Regroup and prepare for containment!"
The soldiers scrambled to obey, their movements frantic as they retreated. Bruce's eyes blazed with fury, the eerie green glow intensifying as he struggled to maintain control. The room seemed to close in around him, the shadows growing darker and more oppressive.
Bruce's eyes, glowing an eerie green, widened in terror as the transformation began. He let out a guttural scream, the sound echoing through the plant. Tears streamed down his face, mingling with the sweat that poured from his brow. His shoulder-length brown hair, streaked with gray, clung to his forehead.
His body convulsed violently, and the soldiers watched in horror as his bones began to break and shift beneath his skin. The sound was sickening—a series of loud, wet cracks that echoed through the room. Bruce's white t-shirt, already worn thin and stained, stretched and tore as his muscles bulged and expanded. The dingy blue button-up shirt he wore over it was ripped apart, the fabric hanging in tatters from his growing frame.
Bruce's black jeans, frayed at the hems, split at the seams as his legs lengthened and thickened. His brown work boots, scuffed and weathered, burst open, unable to contain his rapidly expanding feet. His brown tin cloth work jacket was shredded, the pieces falling to the ground like discarded rags.
His skin began to change, the pale tone shifting to a sickly green. It rippled and tore as new, thicker layers formed beneath, the transformation grotesque and nightmarish. Bruce's screams of pain grew louder, more desperate, as his body was twisted and contorted by the monstrous force within him.
General Ross and the soldiers stood frozen, their faces pale with shock and fear. Ross's eyes were wide, his mouth agape as he watched the horrifying scene unfold. The soldiers' hands trembled, their weapons hanging limply at their sides, forgotten in the face of such a terrifying spectacle.
"Dear God," one of the soldiers whispered, his voice barely audible over Bruce's screams. Another soldier took a step back, his eyes wide with terror, his face ashen.
Ross finally found his voice, though it was shaky and filled with dread. "Hold your positions!" he barked, though his own fear was evident. "We need to contain him!"
But it was clear to everyone in the room that there was no containing the monster that Bruce was becoming.
The transformation was complete, and the Hulk stood before them, a towering figure of rage and power. He was an imposing sight, standing well over eight feet tall, his massive frame rippling with muscle. His skin was a deep, vibrant green, stretched taut over bulging muscles that seemed ready to burst through at any moment.
The Hulk's face was a mask of fury, his brow furrowed and his eyes glowing with an intense, almost otherworldly green light. His hair, once brown and streaked with gray, was now a wild, dark mane that framed his face, adding to his savage appearance. His jaw was set in a grimace, revealing rows of sharp, white teeth that looked capable of tearing through steel.
His shoulders were broad and powerful, leading to arms that were as thick as tree trunks. Each muscle was defined and exaggerated, veins bulging beneath the surface of his skin. His hands were enormous, with fingers ending in blunt, powerful nails that could crush anything in their grasp.
The remnants of Bruce's clothing hung in tatters from the Hulk's body. The white t-shirt was now just a few shreds of fabric clinging to his chest, while the blue button-up shirt and black jeans were reduced to rags. His work boots were completely destroyed, leaving his massive, bare feet planted firmly on the ground.
The Hulk's chest heaved with each breath, his powerful lungs drawing in air like a bellows. His entire body radiated an aura of raw, uncontrolled power, and the air around him seemed to crackle with energy. Every movement he made was accompanied by the sound of his muscles straining and his joints creaking, a testament to the sheer force contained within his frame.
General Ross and the soldiers could only stare in awe and terror at the monstrous figure before them. The Hulk's presence was overwhelming, a living embodiment of rage and destruction. It was clear that Bruce Banner was no longer in control, and the Hulk was ready to unleash his rage on anything and anyone in his path.