1963-07-26 - Another Vagrant
Summary: After Hulking out, Bruce wakes up some place unknown.
Related: http://marvel1963mush.wikidot.com/log:1963-07-25-nyu-protest
Theme Song: None

[[size 150%]] The groan that Bruce emits registers before he opens his eyes. His hands press hard against his head as the throbbing continues in steady rhythm. With another heavy groan, he begins shaking his head, waking himself up from his hidey hole somewhere within his own mind. Flashes of memory fly over his mind – tidbits of a reality he’d been present for, but hadn’t really seen.

Finding no easy way to make sense of them he slowly lowers his hands to whatever ground he’s currently laying on. His palms find purchase on cold hard concrete. His lips edge downwards, and he presses himself to a stand, all while opening his eyes. The white of the light burns against his sleepy retinas, causing him to clamp them shut while rubbing them to find some sense of place.

As his eyes close, the hum of the light finally registers into his consciousness, prompting another groan. Banner has awoke in hospitals before. This seems all-too-familiar. “Where did you bring us?” he mutters irritably.

Someone or something snarls back, echoing from one hollow surface to another, a noise that prompts Bruce to straighten, and force himself to register his location sooner than later. But he straightens too quickly, hitting his head on something metal just in front of him. A single hand rubs his forehead as the metal bars in front of him come into focus. A look downwards introduces him to his bare chest and tattered pants.

“You finally awake?” a gruff voice asks on the other side of the bars.

Bruce sighs as he watches the other man. “Enough,” he offers quietly as he turns around to really take in his surroundings. Large white headache-inducing fluorescent lights that almost give the entire room a green glow light the prison. Foreboding outside walls, constructed of cement give the room a cold feel, and the metal bars that divide prisoners from others create large angry shadows that only further the shadiness of the hold.

“Name?” the man asks back with authority.

While most would just provide their names, Bruce isn’t particularly concerned with the authority in front of him. “Where am I?” Banner counters.

“Farmington,” the man replies without missing a beat.

“New Mexico?” Bruce frowns.

“You were unconscious on top of the Four Corners monument.”

Bruce gapes at the man across from him and his eyebrows furrow tightly. “Riiiight.” He remembers none of this, not that it really matters.

“You’re charged with vagrancy and public indecency. You need to wear a shirt when you go out, son,” the officer’s eyebrows arch expectantly.

It’s then that Bruce’s hands retreat into his pockets, only to find a small corner of napkin that had been given him some days before. He inhales a deep breath. “I still get a phone call, right?”

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