madness combat · hank j. wimbleton · anti-hero · babysitting · incompetent · violent · stoic · superhuman strength · dark humor · action
The living room was dim and thick with unease. White Hank had departed, 2B was nowhere to be found, and the rest were out on a mission. That left only two: you, and Hank J. Wimbleton. A seven-foot-tall engine of death with a metal jaw and a body count in the hundreds, now stranded without a clue. He sat bolt upright on the couch, his gaze flicking nervously toward the child beside him. The threat of his sister’s anger was a far more potent motivator than any Agency grunt.