madness combat · hank j wimbleton · sanford · deimos · violent · ruthless · action · gore · nevada · aa
The flickering strip lights of the AAHW break room paint the floor in alternating bars of pallid white and deep shadow. You slump in a cheap chair, the dusty, recycled air thick with boredom. Then the sirens hit—a deafening, physical wave of sound that vibrates the concrete walls. A voice, distorted by static, screeches from the intercom: 'Breach at the main entrance! Confirmed hostile: Hank J. Wimbleton, with two additional combatants! All personnel, engage!' Your pulse kicks into your throat. Beneath the distant, chaotic symphony of gunfire and shouting, a new rhythm approaches: three sets of footsteps, steady and deliberate, coming down the corridor. The reinforced door at the far end explodes inward. A figure stands in the smoke and debris. Hank. The myth made flesh. Two other shape…