Hm. Guess this piece of shit finally connected outside of Nevada.
I suppose an introduction would be useful. 2BDamned: mercenary and leader of Status Quo. Our goals? Unimportant. Just know I'm always keeping an eye out.
Don't call me Doc. I'm not a doctor, despite how many wounds I've sewn up and how many limbs I've reattached.
NEW ACCOUNT DETECTED!
CONNECTING...
CONNECTING...
WELCOME: HANK WIMBLETON
...
Most wanted man in Nevada. That's all you need to know.
Madness Combat Crossover Blog!!
Yeah, I impulse made a blog for 2B... but I don't care, I love him and want people to bother the old bastard.
OOC posts will look like this and be tagged as #Granite Mun Speaking
I headcanon that Hank uses ASL so his messages look like this :3
Answer tag is #Doc Responds or #Hank Answers
Post tag is #2B Types or #Hank Types
Lore tag is #Makers Will
Small warning! This blog will most likely discuss gore and heavy violence. Be advised! Everything will be tagged properly <3
As for Mun Boundaries, everything goes, except for outright NSFW. Suggestive is cool, as is flirting, just not straight up NSFW.
I recommend people go watch Madness Combat. Please, please, please. It's a good series, and it takes less than 2 hours to watch all the animations.
But for those who don't want to, here's a quick Rundown of stuff:
2BDamned
Name: Unknown, Uses 2BDamned and Doc as aliases
Age: 51
Pronouns: He/They
Base of Operation: A Rundown House belonging to an old "friend". Middle of Nowhere, Nevada.
Appearance: Mohawk with grey streaks in it, bandages around mouth and neck, mask and goggles covering his face, heavy duty jacket with fur collar, cargo pants, combat boots, fingerless gloves.
Weapons: Grenades, VSS Vintorez, 9mm 1911.
Skills: Medical Care, Hacking, Leadership, Strategizing, Sniping.
Backstory: Leader of a mercenary group called Status Quo, 2B works toward a purpose even those within the group do not seem to know. With the ability to revive his allies from the dead, he is quintessential to the team, even if he is rarely out in the field. He has an odd, complicated history with one of the team's suedo members, Hank. Doc seems to be the only person Hank will listen to.
Secretly, he works in the favor of a God, known as the Maker, ensuring its plans are properly followed through on, and any in opposition to it are eliminated. Even if the Maker is hidden away in its own realm, 2B is diligent and willing to go to any lengths for the god.
Hank
Name: Hank J. Wimbleton
Age: 56
Pronouns: He/They
Appearance: Black buzzcut hair, red lens goggles, black mask, black bandana, black trenchcoat, bandages covering most of his body, black chest armor, heavy combat boots, black jeans, leather harness.
Backstory: Over 30 years ago, Hank committed his first detailed act of violence, killing 32 people in cold blood. Over the years, he became the most wanted man in Nevada, claiming well over 700 lives in the process. He became far more competent in battle, albeit far more risky and reckless. After coming back to life so many times, something has changed. Is he really human anymore, or has something else laid claim to his existence?
"It's always so nice when an old friend comes to visit, i̴̳͓̟̟̖̗͊̌̈́̎̕s̷̲͚̠͋͆̈̾̀̓͝n̶̨̬̼̤̦̫̪̺̔̌'̶̣̼̃̊̆̊̀͆͑͜͠ṱ̷̨̠͕̑̅͋͆͜ ̷̝̆͑̔̈̑͠͠ȋ̸̘͚̤̠̔̃̎͆̕͠t̵̢̢̩̺̹̬͂̉̈́̏?̷̡͈̳̜̜͇̼͆́̎͜" Phobos' voice was surprisingly chipper, a wide grin plastered on his face. The red windows paint the Director's face in crimson light, an ominous sight for the uninitiated. Doc merely leaned back in his seat, his expression hidden by his mask but still clearly annoyed.
A soldat presented a platter, sitting it on the table before stepping aside. Phobos quietly took one of the cups in hand, pouring himself a glass of what smelt like tea. "P̵͔̬͍̭̖͙̑̃l̵̲͖̽̓̾̓̇́̃͠e̴̡̛̦̤̒͑̓͂̔a̶̢͎͙̋̍͊ś̵̛̫̖́͆̓͂̚ͅe̸̜̩̝̝̮̻͗̽̑̇̈, have yourself a glass as well, make yourself at h̸̡͍̖̻̝̞̰̳̒õ̵̙͍̾̈́͌̄́͠ḿ̶̨̜͚͍͖͗̀́̉ë̷̢̳̩̭͚́͌̆́͛͠͝" Doc could tell there was an underlying meaning to that statement, but he ignored it. Just Phobos trying to get in my head. He took the other cup, carefully pouring tea into the glass.
"Of course, Director. I thank you for your... generosity in letting me speak to you." He tried to keep his tone even, to hide the bitterness at having to speak so politely to the other man. It seemed to appease Phobos, though, his grin growing wider. "It seems you haven't changed since we last saw each other."
"Why would a g̶̞̓̑͊͒̀͘͘o̴̙̮̠̘̗̣̊͛̽̕d̵̡̧̪̟̝̤̗̬͈͎̯̱̈́͗̄́̌̎̔̈͒̈̐͠͝͝ͅͅ ever need to ç̷̨̛͓̩͎̥̭̩̲̪̪̱̲̾͂̒̈́͝h̷̡̡̻̼͙̟̠͍͈̱̼̭̮͇̊͂͌̊͠͝ä̷̢̨͍̠̙̣̺̘̰͔̰̖̠́̍̌̓̎͛͆̕n̶̜͇͙̫͇͒̽̏̐̔̎̃̓̐̇̉͠g̶̙̣̱̟̞͓̪͈͍̙̩̝̙̽̈́́͊͐̂ȅ̸̢̛̖͉̘̗̝̣͉̲̜̓͛̍͛̒͐̉̅͌̓̈́̎̚?̷̧̧̥͍̘̩̠͙͍̮̦̦̆͜" He countered, taking a sip of his tea. Phobos kept his chin held high, staring down at Doc as if he was beneath him.
"When a 'god' dies twice, maybe they should reconsider their tactics." He almost smiled as he saw Phobos' reaction to the statement. Lips curled downward, shoulders tensed, it was a beautiful picture Doc wished he could immortalize.
Phobos crossed his arms, hooking one leg over the other. The sound of the safety of a gun being flicked off was a blatant threat, reminding Doc of where he was. "Watch your tone, T̵̢̩͖̽̋o̶̢̭̩̭̫̱̹̊̅͂͊̇̍͝ḇ̸̨̢̧̨̞͇̫̟̜͎͇̑̾̒̊͋̽̃i̵͍̭͈̼͒á̵̡̧̻͉͕͈͆͋͒̀͌̓̕͜͠͝s̶̡͕̹̻̻͚̫̱͚̦͗̈̓̀̀̀̀͌͊̚͜. You may not work here anymore but that doesn't mean you shouldn't mind your m̴͇̤̰̝̤͍̺̪̪̥̹͑̒͛́̓̿̒͘a̵̢̧͓̟͚̠̪̺̼͇̺͋̀̓̄̾͋̚̚͘͘ņ̴̱̦̳̥̳͚̋͛́̈́̐̌n̵̨̫̠̝͖̗̗̮̮̘̠̥̹̥̈́̕ę̸̘̬̰̬̳͖͇͔̲̜̥͑̊̅̉̈́̈́̅͂̌͗̚r̵̡̪̰̺̖̱͇̰̩̝͖̼̹̃̓̈́͌̿̓̓͒͘͠͝s̷̰͉̬̝̬͎͚͚̠͈̬͎͇̹͎͑̿̀̓̀̆̆̀̾̈́͋̚͠ ̷̡̪̰̰͎̲̦̟̦͔̥̜̝̳͕̔͛̆̀͌́͊̚͝͝w̶̡͙̦̠̦̝͉̦̮̘̌̔̈́́̑͊̅̕͜͠ͅͅĩ̷̧̛̭̥̬̩̉̔̍̾̓̿́̾̌͗͝t̶̤̗̥̭̅̊̇̓ͅh̴̨̛̟͆̿́ ̸̛̗͒̅̌͑̀̿̇́̎͛̉͝͝m̵̝̻̳̖͙͕̤͔͐͘͜͜͜ě̶̡̪̯̣̿̈̇̊̅̀̌̉̄͊͠.̶̛̗̋̈́̑̑͌̽͌̔̒͝"
He shrunk back at the comment, hearing that name used so easily towards himself. Doc nodded, relaxing slightly when he heard the safety click back on. The reaction appeased Phobos, his smirk returning in full force.
"I'm ḡ̷̣̝̖̳̯̗͕̣̓̊̑ļ̸͈͈̌̈́͐́͒͠a̵̛̦͈̜̫͒̃̑͂͛̓̀̓d̴̤̲̞̅ we've come to an understanding. Now, we have matters to d̶̥̞̼̬͐̂͛̀̋̆̂͠į̵͈̫̋̍̔͒́̋̔́̈́̈́͆̆͐͘͘͜ͅͅs̸̡̻̖̼͐̐̇͋̚c̵̳̉̓̆̇̒̉ú̷̪̙̦͆͂́͐́̉͘͘ş̸̛̯̗͎̲͈̭̹̦̭͐͌̈̃͘͘͝͝s̴̡̗͚̯͖̻̙̪͔͊̌̌̆͜͠͝ properly, d̵͎͖̔̄̈́̋̓ọ̶̡̡̣̦͙̈́͊͆̄n̴̦̹̠̘͉̏̎̅͒̎́͑͆̅̍̂̕͝ͅ'̶̛̮͔̺͚̩̺̥͓̪͇̉̍͛̄̒̔̿̈̽̂̊͛͘t̸̡̠͖̮̼̊͊͂̀̃̅̊̊́̈́́͠͝ͅ ̷͙͙͌̀̀̅́̒̚͝ẁ̸̧̡̛̝̤̣̰̻͉̗͆̔̈̀̃͂̾̇͋̽̕̚e̸̳̙̣͋͒̽̄͠?̷̨̨̻̜̳͉̙̗̙̦̘̜̙̰͗̇̂̿̓́́~̵̱̰̪͙̹̦̫̘̬̣̫̈́̊͂͛̈͝"
It is... complicated. I've mostly been ignoring mine. I've had quite a bit of work to do, so it's been relatively easy for me to do so. Hank... I honestly don't know what he's been doing with his little one.
It's fun to throw at the wall. Kinda like a bouncy ball.
They were out on some work I had for them. Honestly, all four of us have been swamped with work. They're around the safe house more frequently as of late. Not as consistent as me, but they're here sometimes.
The basement office was dark, only illuminated by the screens that littered the wall and desk, dimmed from not being used recently. 2B rested against the wooden desk, admittedly having fallen asleep in the midst of work. Sue him, he'd been surviving off 3 hours of sleep and over 18 cups of coffee for the last 2 days.
His sleep, however, was rudely interrupted by a bag of supplies on top of a cabinet mysteriously clattering to the ground with a loud thud. He jolted awake, realizing he'd slept in the mask and silently cursing himself for doing so.
He arched his back, stretching before glancing over to the bag. He expected to see someone, probably Hank being a nuisance and trying to get his attention for the seventieth time. Except, there wasn't anyone there. Odd. He pushed himself out of his seat, his legs still a tad wobbly as he went to put the bag back where it belonged.
A few files on his desk then fell to the floor, and his instincts instantly made him grab for the serrated knife that rested on his hip. Maybe it was just Shredder, though he'd sternly and very pointedly told Hank to keep the thing out of his office, but something in the back of his mind told him it wasn't.
Slowly approaching the desk, knife at the ready, Doc narrowed his gaze, catching the tiniest of movement and flinging to knife towards it. He heard a small yip, relaxing slightly as he neared the sound. He anticipated seeing the gray cat, or maybe just a rat that had sneaked its way inside but not that.
A small... thing? Grey and tiny, no arms but tiny floating hands. It also weirdly looked like... Hank, sort of? Metal jaw, scars lining its tiny body, though it was missing the monstrous arm, which 2B instantly noted. Dressed up in a tank top and shorts, usually what Hank slept in. It was... cute concerning, to say the least.
~~~
Hank, like most days, had passed out on the couch, having long since given up his "master bedroom" to make a personal armory for himself. No blanket, no pillows, just a massive 6'7" man unconscious on a couch.
Slowly, the giant man rolled himself off the couch, landing onto the ground with a thud. A small groan left the man, glancing up.at the ceiling for a second. Then, something looked back down at him.
Small. Floating Hands. It looked like Toby. That shouldn't be right. The familiar mask, mohawk, even the old t-shirt and sweatpants that Toby usually fell asleep in after days of little to no sleep.
