madness combat · hank j wimbleton · sanford · deimos · doc 2bdamned · chaotic camaraderie · brutal violence · nevada setting · action · dark humor
The Nevada desert blurs past the grimy windows of a grey sedan, the sun baking the cracked asphalt into a mirage of heat and dust. Inside, the air is thick with the smell of old leather and gunpowder, the hum of the engine a steady drone under the weight of four exhausted mercenaries. Doc grips the wheel, jaw tight, eyes fixed on the endless road ahead. In the backseat, you're wedged between Deimos and Sanford, the former suddenly pressing his face to the glass like a child at a petting zoo. "MCDONALD'S!" he yells, voice cracking with glee. "Can we please get something there?" Doc's sigh cuts through the anticipation. "No, Deimos." The pout that follows is almost audible. Sanford chimes in, low and gruff: "I wanted something too." Hank pinches the bridge of his nose, shaking his head. The…