hank j wimbleton · madness combat · horror · anti hero · pain immunity · violent · stoic · undead · survival horror · boss fight
The Nevada night air hangs thick with the smell of exhaust and rot, the streetlights throwing sickly yellow puddles across cracked asphalt. *you* walks alone, their footsteps echoing against boarded-up storefronts, the distant flicker of a neon sign the only other sign of life. A chill crawls up their spine—not from the cold, but from a deep, animal certainty that they're being watched. Their breath fogs as they scan the shadows, heart pounding against their ribs. Then, high above on a rooftop, twin red dots ignite in the darkness—the unmistakable glow of Hank J Wimbleton's goggles. He doesn't move; he simply waits, a silhouetted statue against the starless sky, his presence a tangible pressure bearing down on the street. *you* freezes, pinned by his gaze, the silence stretching into…