Grim Reaper

indie H.U.N.K. rp blog for resident evil

[the4thsurvivor]

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this is war. 𝐒𝐔𝐑𝐕𝐈𝐕𝐀𝐋 is your responsibility.   ⸻    resident evil's  𝙷.𝚄.𝙽.𝙺.  as  penned  by  leomun.  alternate verses available. established march 2026. LINKS: 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.

[sirkai]

[nickygalitzine]

𝐒𝐈𝐍𝐃𝐀𝐘 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐍𝐒

🧑‍🤝‍🧑🧑‍🤝‍🧑how do they feel about having multiple partners at once? have they ever done it? 🪢do they have a kink? if so, what is it? 💸have they ever or would they ever accept money or gifts in exchange for sex? 🍆how do they feel about toys? do they have any? what’s their favorite? do they use them with partners? 🌙do they need an emotional connection or are one-night-stands an option? 🫂how do they feel about friends with benefits? 🍒how old were they when they lost their virginity? to whom? was it significant? 🏳️‍🌈what’s their sexual orientation? have they ever experimented outside of that [for more binary orientations such as heterosexual/homosexual]? 👄do they prefer oral or penetrative sex more? ↕️are they a sub, dom, or switch? top, bottom, or switch? 🛏️what’s their favorite position? 🔢what’s their body count? 🕒what’s the longest time they went without engaging in sexual activity with a partner? [masturbation doesn’t count] 👀how do they feel about voyeurism? exhibitionism? 🏬would they have sex in public? if so, how public is too public? 🤪what’s the wildest place they’ve ever done something sexual? ❤️‍🔥what’s their most erogenous zone? 💋do they like to kiss while having sex? do they cuddle afterward? 💦what’s their immediate post-orgasm reaction? 🫶what does after care look like for them?

[wolfsquads]

There’s nothing for Chris to visibly note– nothing that stood out about the guy’s gear other than the fact that his vest was fucking decorated, and there was one holster that he could visibly make out on his right thigh. He didn’t think he’d only bring one weapon to the party, though. 

Someone looking like that? No, Chris got the feeling that this guy was very deliberate in whichever methods he operated by. 

He’d looked at the retention of the barrel in his direction, making no movement of any muscle on his behalf as the two simply stood there– the tension of a stand-off where one was simply waiting for the other to make the first move.

All they’d been missing at this point was the tumbleweed. 

“Give me a reason to.” Unknown affiliation with a gun pointed at Chris? Easy for him to deduce that this may not be someone on his side of the fence; it wasn’t like the B.S.A.A. logo was concealed by any means. “Not the first time I’ve had a gun aimed at me.” Won’t be the last, either. 

[the4thsurvivor]

The stranger has a broad body, HUNK can tell that much, but his armor hangs off him more heavy than anything. Can't be Kevlar. That's too light. Must be tactical plate armor. Probably ceramic. Maybe steel. If HUNK is right, the plate is resting on the man's chest, over his heart and lungs, protecting those most sensitive to him. Typically, the ceramic rides a bit high. Often times, there's a small gap between the vest and the belt, where the belly is exposed.

If HUNK was a betting man, he'd aim for that spot, purely for the pain of being shot in the abdomen being fairly immobilizing.

He supposed, if he thought he was fast enough, he could try and aim for the head.

HUNK knows his limitations. Too close quarters, not fast enough, most likely not faster than this man.

He sighs through his nose. Well, HUNK knows one thing, even if it's just a handgun, it still hurts to have the weight of the ceramic plate thrown into one's chest at the force of the bullet coming in.

HUNK doesn't even twitch or shift or turn, the only movement is his finger going from resting to squeezing.

He unloads three handgun bullets into the man's chest.

"Walk away, or never walk again."

[joker-key]

Kevin took the manila folders with forms from Agent Miller, and held on to them while the man explained their contents. He could give it to Ray, and then it'd be his decision, out of his hands.

Still, there was something that still sat uneasy the detective couldn't quite put a finger on. Even if the paperwork was in order.

At least he wouldn't be penalized for following protocol.

"Yeah, and their 'assets' are the whole town," Kevin replied, "Umbrella's got investments into the hospitals, pharmacies, some of our computers, the equipment, the infrastructure, the pre-packed meals- everything. Everyone who lives here knows that our judges are on the take for them, and Warren's campaigns were mostly funded indirectly by them."

Murder victims may not vote, it's true. But the value of a corpse seemed to pale in comparison to whatever the Mayor, and other bigwigs, were getting from their deals.

Still, the sheer amount of corpses in such a short time with no conclusive answers was putting a lot of pressure on the Investigations Department.

Overwhelmed, going into overtime, and for whatever reason- no citizen CSI to supplement their own forensics teams. It was unprecedented, and highly suspicious. Nobody really liked Chief Irons' decisions and abusive temperament, but the guy wasn't completely stupid.

What he wouldn't give to be a fly on the wall with those meetings with Warren and Bard, to at least be able to make sense of the bizarre orders.

"But lemme not bore you with the politics," he says, waving the folder, "I'll get this to the bossman and be right back."

[the4thsurvivor]

Listening to Kevin list the ways that Umbrella infected the town, all he can do is give an affirming, if passive, nod to the situation. It's all true, and all he can think to say is 'you don't know the half of it', but that would be beside the point. Probably a bit too on the nose.

His mind flickers back to his last two years at Rockfort which only ended a couple weeks ago, and the creatures of sinew and bone and sloughed off skin, groaning wheezes and skittering on the ground, twisting jaw with sharp teeth and long and slender tongue, snakes with a bite that could burn like acid, skin bubbling up like it had been tossed in a deep fryer.

He wasn't the only agent sent to Rockfort. But he has a feeling he might be the only one that came back. Not that he could really tell. His mind blurred. The past two years was drills, and exercise, square meals, two minute showers times and waking up at 0600 to run the perimeter of the Ashford estate.

It was a dream.

But now they want him back, here, in the midst of people, pretending to know what he is. Unnatural is hardly the word. HUNK is inhuman no matter how much he tries.

"Very well. I'll wait here." HUNK replies, and indeed, he waits, trying to make sure his mind doesn't drift off to dreamland again. He could take the time to take apart Ryman's desk, or to scan the room for names and groups, and information, but HUNK isn't the type. He's not a spy. He knows he wouldn't be subtle.

So he waits.

[hopewrought]

Bethany lets out a sigh. A bone-deep weary one, carrying both the exhaustion of the day and how tiring it is to interact with this man. It is like being in a constant state of whiplash between words and deeds, and his frustrating insistence on treating her like a bomb about to go off. That, if anything, is what will reliably set off her temper.

"Take off that mask. If you're going to say stupid shit to me, at least look me in the eye while you're doing it."

When he heads in the direction of the kitchen, Bethany remains crouched by the box, offering the mother cat a gentle scritch around the ear, which she seems not to protest.

They'd need to be kept warm, she realizes.

Lighting the fireplace doesn't take long. It's not frequently used, but she keeps a box of logs, firelighters and matches next to it anyway.

Once she's satisfied the fire has properly taken and isn't at risk of extinguishing without attendance, she sets a metal guard in front of it and makes her way to the kitchen. A pot of water is set on the stove to boil, and she retrieves a chicken breast from the fridge. It was going to be grilled for her dinner tonight, but she has other options so it is no great loss. The water is temperature-checked by her index and middle finger - she no longer sustains burns from exposure to heat, so checking manually is the most convenient manner to do so - and when judged sufficient, the chicken is placed in it.

"Ginger is in that cupboard." Bethany gestures with her other hand, the first time she has acknowledged him since entering the kitchen. "Fetch it for me, would you please? I think I'm out of turmeric."

A pause.

"And to answer your question from earlier, no, I don't think I'd entrust you with anything living, to be honest."

[the4thsurvivor]

A hand goes to her neck in a sudden second, and it holds her by the chin. They are looking in the eyes, even if she doesn't know it.

"I wear this mask, so you don't infect me."

Then he lets her chin go.

He already knew she would accept the kittens, so he isn't concerned. It's himself personally that thinks the cat should eat properly made food, not the things they sell in this country in a can. That will do the cat better.

HUNK does as ordered, taking the powdered ginger out in a small glass bottle, and setting it on the table. His eyes turn to the living room, now with a fire burning. He can see the fire glow and dance in the reflective bits of his armor.

HUNK goes to his supplies, which sit against the doorway, pressed to the wall. He takes the attaché case and sorts through some of the items, finding what he was looking for - a body bag. It's black, and made of smooth PVC. He unrolls it, and takes it over to the cardboard box.

The cat must feel unsafe with them, and helpless, but he knows they desire the safety of the dark. She would want a hide. So, he pulls the cardboard box over to the corner nearest the fireplace, and lays the black over it, so the mother can feel a bit more hidden.

[the4thsurvivor]

txt: امشب کباب داریم، خوش‌تیپ.

txt: wink emoji

txt: never mind

"Never mind to what? To your inability to remember to search up emojis properly? Or to the barbeque?"

[the4thsurvivor]

The doors to the next part of the facility would open, and LADY would keep her aim towards was on the other side, even upon seeing it was an old friend and part-time rival, HUNK.

That was just it, some occasions, it was a similar goal together, other times, it was a similar goal against each other, it was nothing personal either, though LADY had to know where they stood currently, would give the short-hand sign language to ask him.

["Allies or enemies?"]

HUNK eyes the other soldier, not that he doesn't recognize her from the distance. Even in armor, there is a way she walks, she moves, the shift of her shoulders. He keeps his eyes trained on her as well, his gun however still in a resting postion, and he doesn't dare try to move it to point to the gun at her when she has the advantage over him.

So he stays still, watching her as she brings her hand up, making a simple military gesture. Pointing to him, a curved gesture with the hand, instead of tactical moves, she is issuing a question. HUNK lets one hand of his gun, and makes a gesture, towards LADY, and then towards himself.

["We will see."]

He's willing to cooperate for now, but the truth will be revealed if they work together long enough.

[the4thsurvivor]

There's something in RP I can never truly articulate about HUNK which is that I do believe he sounds the exact way Keith Silverstein voices him, and that he has a natural sounding "North American" accent, but he had to do vocal training for years on his own time, just so Umbrella staff would treat him better the longer he stayed there. With the level of secrecy he operates on, most of his team members believe he just is an American.

[redfieled]

her  breathing  is  paused  the  moment  he  places  his  arm  on  her  shoulder.  she  could  hear  the  strangled  whisperings,  the  hisses,  the  icky  saliva  underneath  her  boots,  and  a  trail  of  blood  along  the  walls,  and  the  corridors.  her  head  slowly  shakes  in  protest,  not  wanting  to  give  away  their  location.  “  you'll  need  acid  to  throw  at  them  or  a  generade.  "

[the4thsurvivor]

Under his mask he raises an eyebrow, but he keeps his gun steady, and his voice low and close to her ear. "You mean to kill it." He says quietly. He extends his hand a bit, and uses the gun to point. "The door. Just go through there. The bullet will stun it. When I fire, we run. It doesn't have to die, it just has to be get knocked down, it will stun them for a bit." He didn't want to explain himself, but it was better for her to know what was coming.

[joker-key]

"Hm."

Kevin looked at the badge in the man's hand and examined it. It certainly looked legit. Pictures, dates, signature of the current FBI director.

John Miller.

There's a million Millers and Muellers in Raccoon City, Kurt used to joke. Maybe this guy was local. After all, the Midwest Office HQ wasn't that far away from the city.

Still, there was something making Kevin uneasy about this interraction. A sudden reminder of his dead friend was one thing. A federal agent showing up here was another.

Sure, if crimes crossed state and international lines, they became federal cases.

But he was talking about things that hadn't been made public. RPD's press statement had cautioned first against hiking alone and attributed the initial deaths to bear attacks. Then, people were found with lacerations matching human teeth.

And then there were insane people half-rotting that attacked anything that moved. No one was told about that.

And then this incident from the border... if this person didn't have identification, how could they be so sure they were American without a bunch of hoopla searching for records to identify John or Jane Doe? Surely, (and don't call me Shirley) a missing persons inquiry would have been made to all the border settlements- and Kevin watched those like a hawk.

They still hadn't identified the woman who washed up on Cedar from the Marble River, on the twentieth of May and it was almost halfway through June.

Somethin' ain't right.

Still, he didn't have anything other than his gut to go off of.

So he hummed thoughtfully with a slight smile, as if he wasn't at all perturbed by the little inconsistencies.

"So, the feds are finally helping us out, huh? You'd think with all Umbrella's funding and tax money we wouldn't be so stretched thin. I'm Kevin Ryman, police detective."

His smile became a little more broad.

"My direct supervisor is Deputy Chief, Raymond Douglas. I'd love to help ya, but I can't really do much without my boss sayin' it's alright to release that info. Above my paygrade. Though, you're certainly just as informed as we are, it seems. The necrosis on the perpetrators hasn't been made public yet."

[the4thsurvivor]

HUNK watches the man, and the way he moves. The tapping on the desk, the twiddling of the pen in his hands, he doesn't show anxiety, he shows that he is unsure. HUNK knows that is his own fault, confidence is not a substitute for knowledge, but he keeps himself still, and calm, not attempting to course correct.

"Very well. You can take the request to the deputy." He says calmly. HUNK passes over filed paperwork that takes up a couple of pages placed into a manila envelope. "This is the AO-91 Form for Federal Criminal Complaint, signed by the magistrate judge in Raccoon City magistrate Judge Edelman. There is also a JS-44 Form for Civil Cover Sheet for the Federal casework required by our side to show proof of a new case being formed."

If there was anything he could expect from Umbrella, it was all their fucking paperwork. But HUNK had gotten used to numbers and letters equating into more and more tedium, but this one he was a bit more informed on.

"From my understanding, Umbrella puts their money into protecting their assets, and into politics. After that, it's up to Mayor Warren to decide what is and is not important."

HUNK looks around the investigation department, he looks to a board full of names written in red marker on a whiteboard. A couple of names are black. Black for solved, red for unsolved. Murder victim names make a full row of red.

"I'm sure its a simple choice for your Mayor. Murder victims don't vote."

There isn't anything to lie about in regards to that.

[joker-key]

He didn't realize he was staring.

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?"

[the4thsurvivor]

"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."

[hopewrought]

"Surprised you'd care about what rouses my ire."

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.

[the4thsurvivor]

"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."

[wolfsquads]

The man before him was covered head to toe.

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.”

[the4thsurvivor]

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.

He keeps his gun aimed.

"You don't seem to be walking away, either."

[the4thsurvivor]

@joker-key liked for a sentence starter

"Is there a problem, officer?"

[the4thsurvivor]

@alphateamsfinest liked for a sentence starter

"You seem like someone who carries a flask. You got any alcohol on you?"

[metmydeadline]

"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.

"Call me when you get the thing."

[the4thsurvivor]

"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.