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𝐄𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 𝐌𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐇𝐒 𝐇𝐀𝐃 𝐏𝐀𝐒𝐒𝐄𝐃 𝐒𝐈𝐍𝐂𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐁𝐀𝐓𝐓𝐋𝐄 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐒, and while the world had started to rebuild, Ingrid Banner found herself lost in the quiet aftermath. From the outside, everything seemed normal— almost painfully so. She had a boyfriend, the kind who worried about homework while also juggling the responsibilities of being Spider-Man. Sometimes, she even hung out with his friends, laughing at their jokes and pretending she fit in with their simple, uncomplicated lives. And she had a totally normal dad now, too. Well, as normal as a father could be when he was the Hulk. Bruce was more grounded these days, perhaps trying too hard to make up for lost time. He fussed over things like dinner, curfews, and homework. Every night, it was the same— he would remind her of her 11 p.m. curfew, like she was a normal sixteen-year old and not someone who had fought in a galactic war.
Everything was finally normal. But Ingrid wasn’t satisfied.
Most nights, she lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, feeling the weight of it all pressing down on her chest. She had been fighting for this— this elusive sense of normalcy that so many had sacrificed their lives for. And yet, it gnawed at her, leaving her restless. She often felt ungrateful, ashamed that she couldn’t just enjoy what she'd thought she wanted all along. Wasn't this the dream? A regular life? Something people died for?
But no matter how hard she tried, there was always something pulling her away from it. A force she couldn't resist. It was like an itch just beneath her skin, pulling her toward dark rooftops and alleyways, where the world was anything but safe and predictable. Maybe it was the adrenaline, maybe it was the need for control— whatever it was, it always brought her back to this.
That's how she found herself in a shadowy alleyway, the dim streetlight barely illuminating the scene in front of her. Another robbery. Another night where she couldn’t just walk away.
Ingrid’s fist connected with the robber’s jaw, the sound of the impact echoing off the narrow brick walls. The man staggered backward, his hand slapping the cold, unforgiving concrete behind him. He looked up at her with wide, terrified eyes, but Ingrid didn’t stop. She knew the woman he'd been robbing was long gone, having fled the moment Ingrid intervened. But Ingrid was still fighting.
Punch after punch, she kept going. At some point, she wasn't even sure who she was fighting anymore— the man in front of her or something deeper inside herself. Something that screamed for release.
Sometimes, Ingrid wondered if she enjoyed this more than she should. The rush, the control, the power in her fists. She told herself it was justice, that she was making the world safer. But as the man slumped to the ground, clutching his face in pain, she felt no satisfaction. There was nothing fair about this fight, and she knew it.
