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?
Hank stared at himself in the mirror, the long scars marring his face, the metal jaw that gleamed in the low light. He prefers to keep it dark. Made it harder to discern his features.
He moved the metal prosthetic slowly, opening and closing it, wincing at the feeling of muscle stretching uncomfortably around it. Hands clenched around the edge of the sink, an audible crack from how hard his right hand grasped it.
He wasn't that smart, a savant of death and destruction with little to no skill in anything else, but even he was aware of how absolutely fucked he was.
At what point did the human end and the mag begin? Was there even anything human left, or is he just a wolf in sheep's clothing.
He'd neglected to ask that question to Doc. It wasn't important to his mission. Whatever that mission really was. Doc and his ever present vagueness. He sometimes wondered if the man trusted him. Probably not. He'd be a fool to trust Hank.
He ran a hand down his face. Skin, muscle, bone, metal. Glaring down at the goggles he'd left there at the sink, like a mocking taunt.
