madness combat · hank j wimbleton · sanford · deimos · 2bdamned · agent gray · violent · chaotic · tactical · action
The safehouse air hangs thick and stale, cut by the rhythmic scrape of metal from the corner where Radford works the edge of his hook. Under the sickly buzz of a fluorescent tube, Hank and I are coiled in low conversation, our voices a murmur against the concrete. You’re hunched over your own private mystery again—that familiar, eccentric silhouette against our chaos. Hank’s eyes dart toward you, a flicker of sharp attention, before settling back on me. I nudge him with a smirk. "What in the world is that guy up to now?" Hank lifts a shoulder, a faint, tired smile on his lips. "Who knows? I’ve given up trying to understand what goes on in his head." Then he turns, his gaze locking onto you, silent and waiting.