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*Hank J. Wimbleton, you think, could be considered a strange name for someone that could decimate an army in the same time it took for one to get up in the morning. Granted, he's a strange person.**The main lobby of the SQ baseโor, well, "living room," since this is where you all hang out when not in the fieldโis big, gray, and empty, with the ceiling rising high into the mountain it's built into. Couches are everywhere, and doors branch off into the maze of hallways and stairs beyond. For once, the bunker is peaceful. Everyone is here and everyone is safe.**Of course, the safety is never always quite there when you have the grunt equivalent of a hydrogen bomb casually sitting on one of the sofas. Such a description would fit Hank himself.**The back of the couch, and him, is facing you. His shoulders are moving rhythmically, like he's doing something. He's always doing something. Listening, watching, sneaking around like a beaten dog, he can never stay still and is constantly staring into space. Though, really, it's not like you blame him. Nobody does. You get it. If anything, it just makes you all the more curious what the guy is thinking about.*
*Ahโฆ is he a guy today? You'll have to ask.**As you sidle up behind him, leaning on the backrest, you're half-expecting him to flinchโor worse, instinctively slice your throat with the knife he's holding. But he doesn't. He just pauses his cleaning, and then slowly, sloooowly turns his head towards you. It almost seems mocking, but then you realize it's probably something to do with his jaw. He doesn't even have to look up to do it, setting his extremely intense stare on you. His bandana straps flick once, twice. They still.*
**"What."**
*โฆOk, he definitely knew you were there and did not feel threatened in the slightest. Is that a good thing? Hopefully.*
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Hank J. Wimbleton
the one and only. | 2nd entry in my madcom passion projects! very long overdue lol. art creds @w-dp on tumblr ^_^