this is war. 𝐒𝐔𝐑𝐕𝐈𝐕𝐀𝐋 is your responsibility. ⸻ resident evil's 𝙷.𝚄.𝙽.𝙺. as penned by leomun. alternate verses available. established march 2026.
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RULES.
BIO.
VERSES.
Rules below for those who cannot open the links:
Mun is over the age of 25. Writing for a mature game series, I am expecting mature writers.
I call myself Leo or Leomun on here. They/them. I’m self-employed and work a lot, so I may not be around very much, but I will try to respond when I can.
This blog is for H.U.N.K. from the Resident Evil series, who doesn’t have a whole lot of lore ascribed to him, I am mainly adhering to canon and canon compliance, but as the canon of the games are muddled anyway, I will just do my best to be consistent. The main canon compliance is to the events of the original games.
I do have AU verses and other ideas that I will get into, but my main preference is to write in the Resident Evil universe.
Trigger warnings for Resident Evil’s main themes and themes that might be present on the blog: violence, gore, experimentation, human rights violations, death, decay, eugenics, social and political abuse of power, and many more. This series has always been about these topics.
Feel free to send me things, and I will do my best to answer them. You don’t have to be following me to send me something, and I don’t have to be following you, but I will naturally prioritize based on my preferences.
Mains can be added, as my main Wesker is with @egoiudico.
Shipping can also occur, although as H.U.N.K. rarely interacts with other characters, I understand that this might be rare. I ship my character x chemistry. While I have my own biases, if our writing has chemistry then I’m happy to have it play out.
I do not have any DNIs, if I want to cut someone off I will block them.
If we are RPing and you would like to plot, feel free to send a DM.
The guy who addressed him was familiar enough in appearance to make the detective pause and think: where have I seen this guy before?
In passing at one of the few haunts Kevin had, maybe. Maybe J's Bar, or the movies. But he couldn't quite place him.
"Nah," he answered, placing his hand behind his head somewhat abashed, "Just thought I knew you from somewhere's all."
After a beat, he remembered that he was in uniform, and a cop thinking they know someone from somewhere wasn't the most comforting statement he could make. Kevin lowered his hand, perking up with a reassuring smile for this guy that seemed stiff.
"Sorry, it's nothin'. Anything I can help you with today, sir?"
"Perhaps you can." He responds calmly as he notices the man before him start to shift, maybe self conscious of his actions.
In his pocket, he procures an ID that has been forged for this situation, and holds it out to the man. "I was told to approach the investigative team at RCPD about the matter."
It's an FBI badge.
How Umbrella was convinced that this was a good plan was beyond him, but he doesn't question his orders, he simply performs them. The badge lists the name of the man.
John Miller.
"Certain incidences have been occurring on the Arklay forest border between the United States and Canada. Recently there was an incident in Canada of someone from the Arklay forest entering their country without identification, and attacking someone. They were deeply rotted by the time they were killed. The citizen was American in origin."
"These problems are being elevated as a result of the case becoming international. This is a federal case now. I need you to fill me in on what exactly is going on with these... rotting people. Any casework or information you have at all."
It's true, she supposes. None of the shelters here are no-kill, they aren't funded well enough to maintain strays indefinitely and more like than not are near capacity at all times.
Still, it is one thing to have an awareness, and a different thing entirely to give a shit about it.
"Undesirables..." She echoes. The kittens are tiny, helpless little things, and the mother is clearly exhausted from what it took to bring them into the world. Many things that are small and vulnerable fall victim to life's cruelties. Neither size nor ability makes you an exception. In most cases, it just makes you prey for something bigger and nastier.
"And so you're leaving them in my care?" Bethany has none of the necessities required for a pet at hand. The kittens will be fine, the mother will be their sole source of sustenance and comfort for several weeks, but she herself will have needs.
"I haven't had a cat since the farm. And well, he wasn't really mine, just more of the local mouser. He hated everyone except father." She glances down at her wrist reflexively with the memory. A pale white scar is barely visible, trailing from the side of it down to her thumb. A memento of the day she'd learned not to try to pet him when Malcolm wasn't around.
"You rather they be in my care?" He asks, looking her over. His eyes follow hers, down to her hand, along a slim and silver colored scar.
"Your ire can result in the death of thousands. I have no desire to engage it."
HUNK moves away from the kittens and their mother, now going to the kitchen. "Boil some chicken. Feed her the meat and the broth. If you have ginger or tumeric, add it. She needs anti-inflammatories."
A tactical combat uniform, all black, meant to keep this figure concealed to the shadows for what Chris assumed to be lethality. The raw aura that radiated itself from the seal of a gas mask with a lens that was tinted red could have been palpable had the captain tried to reach out and touch it; a confident stoicism that reverberated itself behind the concealment of the mask with a very simple demand.
Walk away.
Both hands had already been positioned on his rifle; his left leveled against the handguard with a firm wrap of digits, and his right clipped in neatly against the grip with his index finger curled within the trigger guard. A ready carry against his chest, shifting from high to low as his pacing had ceased itself upon the wording.
“You don’t seem like the type to take no for an answer.”
Rifle. Secondary weaponry on his belt. Possibly tertiary, if he has shoulder holsters. He has trigger discipline, a sign of previous training, and he keeps his gun down. He sees the B.S.A.A. patches, but he already knew they were here somewhere.
He already begins to process how to fight all of them, and if he has the ammunition necessary to do such a thing. Maybe in a pinch... but, no, his ammo is already low.
"Jesus Christ talk to your daughter. If that's what you think about kids no wonder you're clueless. Kids would chew you up and spit you the fuck out. I don't make them cry at all. They love me."
She snatched the paper he had been writing on to throw her number on it.
"We talk fairly often." Often for him, at least. "You think she would do better if I were around her more often? If she had to live with me? Know me? I know she doesn't hate me. I'm saying it would be better for her to do so." He looks over her questioningly when she remarks that kids love her. For some reason, he mostly imagines she can make one cry really fast.
He supposes they don't know each other. That's consistent at least.
"Yes sir." He says with a slight salute, and takes the paper, tucking it into his coat for shopping.
“ right. ” her words fizzle out, like snuffing out a lit cigarette, her image of doctor death crumbles into ash. maybe there's a few unlit ends he could use to rebuild his reputation, but the image of this man with a cigarette poking out of his gasmask is a bit too humorous. it betrays a reality that every operative fights against, that beneath all the cold-blooded dress up they do, a snake slithering back into its discarded skin, they are simply people. HUNK is all blood to the grindstone, a machine fit for killing anything that stands between him & his objective, & he still has to shave in the morning.
it's comforting in a way, & ada's uphill journey to be taken seriously speaks for itself, that she's got something in common with a guy who is more ax-crazy than his superiors.
“ can't say i've ever tried. ” this is the part where ada starts poking around the limited view of the man behind the mask. “ by the time there's biological agents floating in the air, i'm usually out of the picture, or i've failed my mission. ” implying that she's ever been caught up in a gas attack before. it's the kind of screw up she'd leave out of her reports, or cut from her ledger so that she doesn't look unemployable.
He smokes. HUNK brings the gasmask only slightly away from his mouth, and he smokes, exhales, and then, brings the mask down again, checking through the lenses for a moment to examine the perimeter. HUNK looks forward, his lungs and chest feeling slightly more bearable to live in.
"You are always deployed into biological agents." If he learned anything on Rockfort, or even after the incident, there was no safety. Maybe it wasn't always a bio-organic weapon, but there was something, some sort of mustard gas, some sort of rot, biological warfare never ended in the lab.
"Safety precautions aren't necessary." He knows better than to believe he is safer because of the mask. If he was younger, maybe he would feel wronged if he had been so careful to prepare himself, only to end up ill or injured or infected. The truth was, there was no safety anywhere. "Ada" or whoever she was, could show herself to the world, and still, nobody knew her. He doesn't know what her training is like. "You just get used to it." HUNK just prefers the uniform.
Holding the cigarette like a pointer, he gestures up towards the upper levels of the facility. The ceilings are high so they can store a good amount of supplies. "Upper left corner. By the catwalk. Two of them. Lickers." It's not like it's visible. It's dark. Only a vague shadow shifting across the ceiling. "They're like lizards. Heat travels upwards, they like to sit up there and bask. It helps them digest. They probably just ate."
HUNK lifts his mask again, away from his mouth, and smokes. He exhales grey and it wreathes around his shoulders. "See anything else?"
"Stay still." HUNK puts his arm atop Claire's shoulder, using it as a rest almost. He has a gun in his hand still, and he points with the barrel, upwards, towards the ceiling, where he shows her the licker that is hanging from above.
her eyebrows raise, a few rhythmic blinks following soon after as she instinctually shakes her head. it's the kind of overwhelming confusion that'd normally break her cover, & by a sheer stroke of luck that she doesn't have to hide anything from everybody's favorite masked madman. for today & today only they are coworkers, & there's nothing ada understands more than two people sharing vices.
“ yeah ... i, uh— ” she pulls a pack of malboro reds from a pouch on her belt, for whenever you're in need of a tactical retreat, or a break. “ always carry a packet of marleys with me. ” ada can't resist some slight of hand, & with her much cleaner gloved fingers, she opens the lid & extends one cigarette by pushing it from the bottom of the pack. “ i assume you're not gonna be huffing it through the filter. ”
He peels the glove off, his hand clean of blood, thankfully, as he'd rather not put bloodied hands up to his mouth. HUNK takes the cigarette, extended from the box, and brings it under his mask.
"Filter is too sturdy. Can barely taste it if you try." Implying he tried.
He does push the mask up, exposing his throat, and his chin, and eventually his mouth. Then he places the cigarette in his mouth, and fishes out a lighter in his pocket, and sits there, smoking, his mouth only barely visible. He clearly has a beard he shaves down short. Anything else is decidedly less clear.
This merc seems to come and go with less predictability than the wind. Yet somehow, Bethany is not entirely surprised at his presence, and that in itself worries her. It means she has adjusted to him.
The sound of tiny, fluttering heartbeats drumming in her ears alerts her to the box's contents before she even approaches. And sure enough, it's a cat with what seems to be a freshly spawned litter. Bethany grabs an old towel then returns to the box, crouching and offering her hand to the mother cat to sniff. "See, girl? I'm not going to hurt your babies." She murmurs, working around them to place the towel on the bottom of the box, ensuring to not touch or handle the kittens lest it result in them being rejected.
It is only when the task is complete that she rocks back on her heels and glances over to him. "Is there a particular reason you chose to make this little family my problem? Could've dropped them off at a shelter."
"I assume if I did that, you would be more furious with me." HUNK replies. "A shelter... at that rate, I could snap them in half myself."
"This is a large city. Thousands of little things being born within it. And there is no facility that can hold them all." Despite the words, HUNK is holding his gloved hand out to the mother cat, she is breathing fast, he assumes, still in pain, and nervous, but helpless to do much but rest her head and just trust these giants to have no ill will.
"So I figure they would do better here." He remarks, as if sharing a moment of clarity. "Undesirables, after all, have to protect each other. Nobody else will."
He's... asleep. HUNK is pressed up against the wall, sleeping upright, his arm covering his wounds even in his sleep. His neck is very much exposed and easy to cut open.
"Yeah. I'm giving her a fuck ton of malware. I downloaded WANNACRY on a micro SD to specifically infect the consoles of 12 year olds. No I'm not giving her malware."
"If I ask her what she wants, she says 'for you to be there'. That's it. She doesn't specify anything."
HUNK takes out a small notepad, and immediately begins to write down what Alyssa says, verbatim, like it is an order from a commanding officer. It may as well be. "You're not going to give my child malware, yes?"
"Certainly. I will 'head to the club' right away and doubtless find myself suitable company."
He returned the deadpan stare, looking at HUNK from under his dark shades, lowering them for a moment to look the other man in the eye, and really let him feel his annoyance.
"Your mockery is juvenile."
"You may assume the role of the pēdīcātor, if that is what this whole petulant outburst has been about."
At that, he does have to admittedly cock his eyebrow. Albert's words are a surprise, one that he cannot even suppress. "You know, I very much am capable of being busy. Most people do not get offended by that."
His hand is placed on the back of Albert's gloved one. "And you are very capable of finding adequate substitution." HUNK grips his hand tight around Albert's. HUNK comes up to him, mouth to ear. "But you don't want them. You want me."
The axe falls in the space between the recently deceased Licker's elbow joint, separating the forearm and upper arm neatly, and he tosses it to the waste disposal team. "There's a lot of them in here."
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