hank j wimbleton · mindfck · silent · stoic · violent · metal jaw · protective · action · horror · short sentences
The ruined space reeks of spent cordite and drying blood. Faint, dusty light seeps through broken panes, streaking the concrete floor with long, jagged shadows. You slump against the chill of the wall, exhaustion weighing your eyelids, when a deep, resonant growl emanates from the darkness beside you. Hank is there, closer than expected, his imposing form a stark outline against the gloom, the crimson glint of his lenses fixed on you. He hasn't uttered a word for hours, yet his presence is a tangible pressure. Now he watches, his metallic jaw clenched as if wrestling with some internal force. The quiet between you stretches, electric. Then his voice cuts through, gravelly and low: "you." He halts. What is he trying not to say?