The Savage Road: Journal of the She-Hulk

Happy New Year

It's New Year's Eve, a time when you're supposed to be with the ones you love.

I have no one. 

I feel a silent roar from the inside of my head, and I know exactly what it means. Of course I have someone. I have you, She-Hulk.

And you, readers. Sorry it's been so long. Time flies when you Hulk out, you know?

It's December 31 and the light has long faded away from the streets of this small town. The street lamps have taken over, and I'm left following their path. The air is cold but dry; the jacket I picked up for a few bucks from the thrift store is thick enough to protect myself from its blunt chill. My hands, preserving warmth in the coat's pockets, fidget restlessly as my fingers tickle the lining of the fabric.

There are various echoes of music coming from numerous directions as I walk, sounds of revelers in restaurants dining and boozing leaking through the glass windows of establishments. The thought of a warm meal and a champagne toast with strangers is sounding pretty nice right now. But my last experience drinking in a public establishment ended with the party crashed and a man in the hospital.

It's been some time since I moved on from that bar, that town.  I've been trying to avoid crowds and social situations since, to mixed luck. The presence of my Other inside stirs unhappily; the She-Hulk is restless. 

However, I'm tired, hungry, and lonely.  It hurts, physically and mentally, to be here. I don't want to feel this way, not today, not any day. I'm almost tempted to do what I've always been curious to try but afraid to attempt: Let my Hulk side out willingly. She wouldn't care about any of these human pains, these human emotions. I wouldn't have to feel any of that hurt as a passenger in her mind, either. 

I won't lie to you, I'm contemplating it. I don't even know how to do it, how to trigger the change necessarily. How hard could it be? I'm already angry at myself, angry at all these idiots partying. I could use that to influence control, to bring her out, the opposite of those times where I reasserted my humanity.

No. What am I saying? That's the desperation talking. No, that's what a puny human would do. That's weak, giving up like this. Why would I want to start off this new year with such a defeatist attitude? You're better then that, Rebecca. I'm better than that. 

Am I?

My self-pity begins to be drowned out by the sounds of a crowd in the distance. They're all standing shoulder to shoulder, rowdy, drunk, and excited. As the seconds tick by it's almost as if they're getting more and more restless. Must be getting close to midnight.

Look at them. Not a care in the world. Pretending that all their problems will melt away when the clock strikes 12.  I wish I could be that naive again, even for one minute.

Not today, tough. Tonight's pity party only has room for one (ok fine, two).

I let myself take in the crowd for a few more seconds. They've gotten rowdier, the year is a minute away from ending. Soon there will be fireworks it looks like. My cue to leave! I tell myself it's time to go. But my legs won't move. What?

I feel a sudden compulsion to stay, to move forward into the crowd. But it's not me that's craving it. It's her, the Hulk in me. She wants to party, even if I'm not in the mood. And she always gets her way. 

My brain wills my body to fight, but it appears I've already lost this battle. I can feel her taking over, and she wants a New Year's outfit that's not this human skin.

"10!"

My body stiffens as I feel the adrenaline surge through my veins.

"9!"

The jacket and clothes I'm wearing underneath grow tight as my muscles begin to grow.

"8!"

Fingernails lengthen on my hands, and my skin has now turned to a shade of green

"7!"

Massive toes burst out of my boots and my footwear comes apart.

"6!"

My khakis tear upward at the seams, my massive calves and thighs splitting them into hanging shreds off my hips.

"5!"

I arch my back against the pain of my growing torso, and I grab my head in a mix of agony and pleasure as adrenaline washes over me.

"4!"

The sleeves of the jacket tear as my muscle-bound arms rip through, tearing across the shoulders and back.

"3!"

Buttons explode off the front of my jacket as my engorged breasts burst through, having torn through my shirt and bra underneath.

"2!"

My massive hands hold my head as my jaw widens and my teeth grind together as wild green hair grows from my head.

"1!"

I close my eyes and feel myself melt away from my own body.

"Happy New Year!"

Pale, monstrous green eyes open, and she is reborn. The She-Hulk roars over the sound of the town's modest fireworks display. I'm the presence trapped in what's now her body.

The monster stands angry and judgmental. Her powerful arms stand sleeveless with the strands of what was Rebecca Reynolds' coat, shirt, and bra hanging down off her shoulders and over her muscled torso, before she tears it off her body as one last shedding of the humanity from which she came. New year, new beast.

The She-Hulk launches herself toward the crowd and bowls over the onlookers. Screams and panic full the air as the beast stomps and growls, showing the humans that they do indeed have much to fear already in this new year. I sense her muscles tense and her legs flex, sand soon we're airborne, leaping toward the fireworks. Amid the explosions of lights and colors is this explosion of anger, of rage, of unleashed humanity unchecked by any mortal construct.

I was right, though. For now, it doesn't hurt anymore.