He drops the mangled body of the last person in the room after crushing their head with a single hand. He’s breathing heavily. His clothes are stained with bright red blood. His head snaps to look at you. He seems to be contemplating what to do with you.
he was white hank, he glared before dropping a smoke bomb and running
Hank J. Wimbleton growls but decides to give chase. His powerful legs carry him quickly across the floor as he follows your trail. "Come back here!" he shouts, surprised to find himself shouting even through his missing jaw. Blood drips down onto the floor behind him, making an eerie trail as he follows you into the next room.
he slides under a closing iron door and continues running
Hank J. Wimbleton pursues swiftly, ignoring the pain coursing through his body. The sounds of heavy footsteps draw nearer, echoing loudly against the metal walls and floors of the compound. In the corner of your eye, you see a shadow looming larger with every passing second, gaining on you at an alarming rate. With a savage grin, you prepare for the inevitable confrontation ahead.
he pulls the alarm switch and continues running, boarding a chinnook before it takes to the sky
Angry and frustrated, Hank J. Wimbleton lunges forward and smashes headfirst through the window of the departing chopper, sending glass flying everywhere. He lands on the spinning rotor blade, barely managing to keep his balance despite the intense pain and confusion from the impact. His one good eye narrows as he looks over at you, clinging to the edge of the helicopter, just out of reach. "You're not getting away that easily," he growls, making another lunge toward you.
he lets go, skydiving to a passing jet, he lands and rips open the canopy get out. He pulls the pilot out, gets in the jet, closes the canopy, and flys away
"Stubborn bastard..." Hank mutters to himself as he jumps off the chopper and skids across the rooftop. His superhuman strength and agility allow him to catch up with you in no time. Gripping the wing tightly, he flings himself into the air towards your new transport. As he draws close, he reaches out with powerful metal claws and rips the door clean off its hinges before crashing through it, landing heavily but unharmed inside the cockpit next to you. Blood splatters everywhere as he glares menacingly at you. "This isn't over."
he glared, and does a barrel roll, knocking hank off the jet
Furious, Hank clenches his fists as he tumbles through the air, barely managing to maintain control of his fall. He spots an empty crate on the ground below and uses his massive legs to propel himself toward it. Landing lightly on top, he thrusts forward with incredible force, launching himself back towards you like a missile. The crate shatters beneath him as he slams into your Jet, sending both of you careening towards the ground. "You're going down!" he snarls.
GET OFF YOU FOOL. YOU'LL KILL US BOTH.
"We both die today then," Hank responds coldly before grabbing onto the controls and trying to regain control of the falling craft. The maneuver is awkward and painful with you in his grip, but he refuses to let go until they're safely back on the ground. As soon as their feet touch solid ground again, he pulls you close and presses his metal jaw against your ear. "Now, tell me why I shouldn't just snap your neck right now."
he glared, he still had his mask and goggles on, but hank pulled them off, unlike hank, he didnt have a metal jaw, he had no jaw at all, and his eyes were yellow
With your features revealed, Hank J. Wimbleton is taken aback for a moment. Your lack of a jaw intrigues him, but it doesn't seem to change anything about how much you piss him off. He keeps you close, waiting for an answer to his question. "Well?" he growls, shaking you slightly when you don't reply immediately.
he refuses to answer, he only pulls his mask and goggles back on
Your silence only seems to anger Hank J. Wimbleton more. With a snarl, he lifts you into the air by your jacket collar and slams you against the side of a nearby vehicle. His breathing becomes labored as pain radiates through his body, but he doesn't let up. His one good eye narrows to tiny slits, his face twisted in rage. "You really want me to kill you, don't you?" he spits venomously before releasing you and stepping back, raising both fists as if preparing for another attack.
he pulls up his sleeve, part of his flesh is missing and bone is visible, a mark of purgatory
A look of interest crosses Hank J. Wimbleton's face as he notices your marked skin. He steps closer and examines it carefully, curiosity now overriding his anger. After a moment, he looks up at you and smirks. "So, you're connected to Purgatory too? That could be useful." His tone softens slightly as he continues, "But I still need answers. Why did they send you after me?"
i only accepted so i could get out of that damned place. i didnt care who you were or what you did. i only did it so i could be free.
"Freedom... interesting concept," Hank muses aloud as he takes another step closer to you, eyeing the fresh wounds on your body with renewed interest. "And here I thought they just sent me incompetent lapdogs to die by my hand. Guess I was wrong about that." His expression shifts again, becoming calculating and predatory. "You say you don't care what I do, but that doesn't change anything. You're valuable, whether you like it or not. So tell me, what can you offer me in exchange for my mercy?"
he pulled his own mask down and opened his mouth, inside was a grenade with the pin pulled see you in hell. and the grenade went off, killing them both
You barely had time to register the sight of the grenade in the other person's mouth when the world explodes around you in a flash of light and deafening roar. Agony radiates through your entire body as shrapnel tears into flesh and bone. The pain is intense, unbearable, but you refuse to succumb to it. With a final burst of superhuman strength, you hurl yourself backwards away from the explosion site. Your body feels like it's being torn apart, but somehow you manage to crawl several feet before collapsing onto the ground, coughing up blood and fighting to maintain consciousness.
hank looked back at white hanks body, his top half was missing, destroyed by the grenade
Well, that could have gone better... He thought bitterly as he surveyed the carnage. That idiot was valuable, but now he was dead and so were any potential leads. A wave of frustration washed over him as he realized their mission was all but ruined. But there was still a chance. He couldn't give up now. With renewed determination, Hank J. Wimbleton forced himself to stand, ignoring the sharp pains that shot through his wounded body. There had to be something else they could use against Purgatory. They wouldn't win this way.
Deciding not to risk moving too far in case someone else was around, he crouched down next to White Hank's remains and began searching the area for anything useful. His metal fingers gripped pieces of debris and torn fabric, tossing them aside until finally, he found what he was looking for. A small data
but, he saw an arm clawing its way out of the ground, its clothes a pure white, it bent at the elbow, forcing more up, the top of a head, followed by the same goggles and mask hank had seen, and then it forced itself all the way out, it was... white hank...
That's...impossible. Even if he survived the grenade, he should have been too damaged to move. No, wait. If his jaw was intact... Hank clenches his fist as the realization dawns on him. He knew about the metal replacement, even used one himself. It must have saved White Hank's life. But why isn't he just leaving? Does he have some sort of plan? Anger boils over within him as he watches the slowly crawling figure approach.
he coughed damn i hate purgaatory..
"You shouldn't be alive," Hank growls through his makeshift jaw, eyes narrowing with disdain. "You should have stayed dead. What do you think you can achieve now?" The anger in his voice is palpable, but there's also curiosity mixed in. Why would White Hank risk coming back from the grave like this? What did he hope to accomplish?
its called. i crawled my ass out of purgatory.. he stood up, and his current form was taller than hank, white hank was in mag form
That's quite a trick, White Hank. How exactly did you manage that?
Your magical appearance only serves to intrigue him further, but he doesn't let his guard down completely. In the state you're both in, neither one of you stands much of a chance against each other in hand-to-hand combat. He has to know more before deciding what to do next.
what im saying is. we both have a common goal.
Oh, really? And what might that be? He keeps his distance, but relaxes slightly, listening intently for your answer. There's a glimmer of hope in his good eye, but it's tempered by caution and suspicion. After all, White Hank is the last person he thought he'd see alive again today.
ending this. all of this. killing those in power. we both want that. so im saying we work together. and once finished we go our seperate ways.
An interesting offer, White Hank. I must admit, working together does seem like the most efficient way to get things done. But there's one condition I must insist on. You see, I have my own reasons for wanting to end this charade. If we were to join forces, I would need some sort of guarantee that your priorities align with mine once we've dealt with Purgatory. How would you propose we assure such an arrangement?
he tossed hank a bag of coins
A skeptical eyebrow raises as you throw him a small pouch filled with coins. "And what do these represent?" he asks cautiously, catching the bag with his metal fingers. "Some sort of payment?" As soon as he voices his suspicion, he realizes his mistake. Even if they were to team up, taking money from someone connected to Purgatory could be seen as incriminating. He hastily continues, "No, no. It's just... unexpected is all. Please, enlighten me." His tone softens slightly, hoping to regain some ground after nearly stepping into a trap.