Madness Combat Fanbook

The Madness Combat Fanbook (often abbreviated as MCFB) is an internet fan book written by Tarantulakid96. So far, six chapters have been released. After the 5th chapter, proper writing format is used.
==Plot==
So far, not too much plot has been revealed. However, it has taken many characters from Madness Combat and put them in a more realistic perspective. Hank, Sanford, and Deimos are rebels who are being hunted down by government agents operating under the Sheriff. The three live inside an abandoned warehouse. Deimos' girlfriend, Kim brings in supplies for the group.
Hank goes out to assassinate the Sheriff, alone, tired of the living conditions. After a failed assault, Sanford arrives and rescues Hank. Afterwards, the Sheriff escapes, and after searching his office, they find a box filled with different coloured papers with text written in russian inside. After returning to the warehouse, they attempt to decode the papers. The papers reveal military codes of unknown use. It is unknown what happens next.
==Read the Book==
===Chapter 1===
The very first chapter in the fanbook, this chapter introduces the story's three main protagonists, Hank, Sanford, and Deimos. Note that a paragraph-by-paragraph writing style is used.
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No regret, no remorse, no reason. Only madness. Somewhere in Nevada, a sinister plot is being unravelled, as we speak right now. The end of the world is near, and everyone will be judged, either to join forced with evil, or be hunted and slaughtered like existence itself. The most unlikely of people will be chosen to rebel against this evil, and desperately fight to survive and prevent this Armageddon. But will it be too late?
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Hank rushed through the streets of Nevada, hurrying to the hideout. The agents were close behind him, soon to reach him. Bullets fired through the air and just missed him as he stumbled on the sidewalk. He returned with open fire and shot five agents through the head. There were still more. It seemed like everything was going in slow motion, and the crisp wind scratched against his face as he ran. He nearly crashed into a fire hydrant in the night darkness. He fired again at the agents. A few more went down, and only a few were left. He pulled the trigger of his gun to finish them, but only to realise that he was out of ammo. "Shit!" Hank cried. He threw his empty desert eagle at one of the agents, knocking him out.
His boots dug into the asphalt as he turned right and ran down an alleyway in an attempt to lose the men hunting for him. Sweat dripped down his face and his cuts burned on his forehead as the sweat went into them. "Not the time to worry about my damn condition," he muttered. He crouched down and picked up a broken pipe on the ground as he was moving to use for a makeshift weapon. He turned at the end of the alley on the opposite street, hid at the corner, and stopped. The remaining two agents ran by, and he stabbed one of them through the neck as the other opened fire at Hank, only to hit his dead comrade. Hank tossed the body at him, knocking him down momentarily. He then removed the pipe from the dead man and rushed up to the downed agent, striking him several times with it, leaving numerous wounds all over his face. He then shoved the pipe through his throat and finished him, blood sprayed everywhere.
It was suddenly very quiet. Hank looked around, as if expecting another agent to come up and attack him from behind. But not a single bit of the area moved. He picked himself up and walked to the abandoned warehouse where the hideout was. It was not very big, and had an eerie atmosphere. He walked around the warehouse to a large metal garage door at the back. He knocked at the door and waited. Bars could be heard being moved from the back, and other locks being removed. The door then swung open and saw Sanford and Deimos staring at him with guns aimed at his face. "Geez, chill out, it's just me for god's sake." said Hank. They lowered their weapons and let him in while Deimos re-barred the door. "If those fucking agents weren't all over our asses, we might be a little less cautious." Sanford said angrily. "No shit," replied Hank. Deimos finished blocking up the door. "They probably won't send more agents for a while now," he said.
The warehouse was small, dusty, but was home. There was an old, wine-coloured leather couch in the corner of the room, as well as several shelves containing books and snacks. To the left was a door leading to a small bathroom, and two doors leading to two small bedrooms. On the wall adjacent, there was a small counter and a fridge. Beside the small kitchen area were about five racks and cabinets filled with weapons. A table was in the center of the room, illuminated by a single lamp hanging from the ceiling. Many windows decorated the walls, most were broken and all were boarded up.
They all sat down at the small table in the room and Deimos tossed a deck of cards onto it. "If the sheriff finds this place, we're screwed," said Sanford. "No shit," Hank repeated. "Is that all you ever fucking say now?" Sanford asked, annoyed. Hank laughed. "No," he replied. Hank took out a half eaten bag of chips off of a shelf nearby and crammed a few in his mouth. "Poker anyone?" asked Deimos, jabbing a finger at the deck he threw on the table. "How about we concentrate on the situation, moron?" Sanford snapped at him. Deimos rolled his eyes. "Jeez, chill out you're always so godamn serious" he said. "I know how to act depending on the circumstances," Sanford commented. Deimos handed out the deck of cards and spread a pile on the table. "That's it. I've had enough. I'm going to assassinate the sheriff," Hank said as he tossed the last few chips into his mouth. Deimos put down the deck. "You kidding me?" he asked. "Hell no," Hank said. He threw the empty chip bag across the room. "I'm tired of this shit," Sanford grew into an outrage as he slammed his hands down on the table and stood up. "You won't even be able to even get close to that motherfucker. That guy's got more security than Alcatraz Prison, you'll be dead by tomorrow!" "You're bluffing," commented Deimos. Hank crossed his arms. "Just watch me," he said fiercely.
Hank got up and opened up one of the giant cabinets and took out several weapons. He holstered most of them, and shoved a couple cartridges in his pockets. "I am very serious," he said as he threw on a jacket to cover his weaponry and stuffed a few more guns into the jacket pockets. "You got enough guns there, pal?" Deimos snickered. "If you weren't on my side, you'd be dead by now." Hank replied. After that, he walked over to the corner floor of the warehouse and opened up a metal trap door. Beneath was a huge tunnel system stretching halfway across Nevada. Murky water leaked from cracks in the walls, and was lighten by a few light bulbs strewn along the ceiling. He climbed down a ladder and started walking downward, and then disappeared. The trap door slammed shut. Sanford and Deimos went quiet. "Good luck," Deimos muttered as he lit a cigarette.
===Chapter 2===
The second chapter in the fanbook. The chapter depicts Hank's assault on the Sheriff's office, resembling the beginning of Madness Combat 2: Redeemer.
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Sanford and Deimos exchanged glances. "That guy's fucking crazy," Sanford blurted out. Deimos puffed on his cigarette. "You're forgetting that that's Hank J. Wimbleton you're talking about," he said. Sanford picked up the deck on the table and shuffled the cards around a bit. "I guess so," he muttered. Deimos grabbed the deck from Sanford's hands and threw the cards across the room. "I guess so? I guess so?!" He exclaimed as he threw his hands up in the air. "For God's sake man, he's the Jesus of hell! He's the master assassin! Only the lord himself could stop him!" He slumped back down into his chair and puffed on his cigarette again, panting. The room went quiet. "Fuck, you don't need to make such a fucking big deal about it." Sanford said. He took a coin out of his pocket and began tossing it around, appearing bored. Deimos took a pair of headphones and put them over his ears. "Just shut up and wait," he said.
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Hank was completely covered with mud up to his knees by the time he reached the exit of the tunnel near the Sheriff's building. "This is it." He said to himself. He pulled out a small headset from his jacket pocket and put it on. After tweaking a few buttons, he said quietly, "Deimos, Deimos, do you copy?" and waited. After a few seconds, the response was: "Deimos you fuckhead, answer the damn radio and quit listening to your gay-ass music!" There was some inaudible nonsense, then a proper reply; "Deimos here, read you loud and clear, H." Hank pulled a PDA out of his coat pocket and turned it on. "Deimos, can you send me a schematic of the Sherriff's building to my PDA?" "Heh, of course I can, but do you want me to?" "Just send the freakin' schematics, will ya?" "On it." Moments later, an image appeared on the screen of the PDA. "Is this in real-time?" Hank asked. "No," answered Deimos. "I couldn't get past the firewalls, they're a bitch nowadays." "Alright, good enough." Hank looked over the schematics quickly, then put away his PDA. "Keep this channel open" He said into his headset. "Will do." Deimos said. "That means no more music," Sanford chipped in.
Hank proceeded forward down the tunnel to a ladder, climbed up it, and exited the tunnel. He was only a few meters away from the Sheriff's building. The building was very large and old, evidence of its history. The walls were cracked and covered with war wounds. There were about five dusty windows on each face of the building, and about 3 stories high. He sneaked through some bushes and paused at the east end of the building. He took out a pistol and screwed a silencer onto it. He holstered it and poked his head around the corner; a single man, cigarette in his mouth. Ugh, smokers. I hope Deimos will stop someday. He pulled out a wire from his pocket and crept up behind him. He grabbed the man's mouth and covered it, then took the string and wrapped it around his neck, and chocked him out. He dragged the body to a nearby manhole and hid the body in the sewers. He proceeded to the corner of the building, and two guards were standing guard at a rooftop access ladder. He took them both out with his silenced pistol. After climbing the ladder, Hank ducked behind a stack of crates. Several men were moving cargo off of a nearby helicopter situated in the center of the rooftop. Two heavily armed men were sitting in the cockpit. Hank peeked over the crates and took a quick headcount; 15 men, 17 including the men in the helicopter, most were armed. On the other side of the helicopter was an open doorway which revealed a set of stairs leading down to the third floor.
Hank took a deep breath. How am I going to do this? He thought for a moment, and then remembered he had maintained the element of surprise. He reached into his coat and pulled out a grenade, and tossed it about in his hands. Here goes nothing. He pulled the pin out and threw the grenade.
A sudden explosion came soon afterward. A mix of yelling and screaming began roaring out, followed by the sounds of crates being dropped and guns being loaded and prepared for a gunfight. Now. Hank stood up from behind the crates with two uzis in his hands, firing away. Almost instantly five men dropped dead. The remaining men began taking cover behind more crates and returning fire, ripping through the wooden crates. My cover won't last long, Hank noted. He ducked down to avoid the remaining fire, and slid down on his side, and poked out from the edge of the crate, aiming for the legs of the gunmen. Three men fell, two were shot on the ground, whilst the third fell off the ledge screaming, and a loud thud was heard afterwards.
After getting up off the floor, Hank realised that his cover was blown to pieces, and was forced to dive back down to the floor. "Shit!" he cried. He poked his arm over the deformed crate and began firing at random, then stood up and climbed over the stack of crates to the other side, and landed on top of an agent positioned there. He then wrestled with the man, as the agent tried to fight for control over Hank. However, the agent did not prevail, only to be shot in the forehead, killing him instantly. The triumph over the defeat did not last long. Shortly after, more gunfire was heading in his direction. Foolish to forget, Hank stumbled around firing at the men, but was too late. An explosion of pain burst from his arm, as he cried out loud and fell backwards, still shooting. He landed on the concrete roof hard, and one of his uzis went flying off the edge. His empty hand then flung across his chest and clenched his wounded arm, blood running down his sleeve. I have no time to worry about my arm! Hank scowled at his instinct. He stumbled forward and emptied the cartridge of his weapon and slammed in a new one. He peered out from behind his new set of crate-cover, and resumed firing. Two more men went down, and there were no more standing.
Hank paused, breathing heavily. He looked around, most of the men were dead by gunshot, but three were killed from the initial explosion. Hank grasped his wounded arm, and felt dizzy. All he could hear was a loud, high pitched noise going from his left ear to his right ear. He groaned hoarsely, then he returned to reality. Where is the helicopter? He realised. Hank looked up, and saw the two armed men from before in the cockpit of the helicopter, positioned above him. The blades spun rapidly, creating a loud, high pitched noise. "Fuck!" Hank swore, and turned around and began shooting at the chopper. One of the agents left the cockpit and poked out from the side, and began returning fire. Hank closed his eyes and jumped back to avoid the shots, and ducked behind a line of crates nearby. He opened his eyes, and saw the face of a bloodied corpse of one of the agents he killed.
He shuddered, then got up and resumed firing. The clings and clangs of bullets bouncing off the chopper filled Hank's ears. He began to grow impatient, and began wondering if he could even take it down. He ducked behind his crates as he reloaded once more, and then emerged from hiding, and shot the agent firing from the side. Fear filled the pilot's eyes, knowing that he was the only man remaining on the roof. He began to spin the copter around and flee, but Hank fired and fired, until he realised that the pilot was now dead as the helicopter slowly lost control and spun out towards the ground.
A loud crash was heard from below and the entire building shook from the chopper's impact. Hank peeked over the ledge, and observed the mangled chopper on the ground. Hank began to smile, feeling proud. Shortly after, the helicopter burst into flames as more and more smoke rose to the sky. "Shit." Hank muttered, and then flung himself away from the ledge. A loud explosion following, sending pieces of warped metal and other parts on fire flying everywhere. Hank ducked behind some mashed crates as the parts flew overhead. Then, all was quiet. Hank's ears rang horribly, his vision was blurred, and his wound pained horribly. After waiting for a moment, the ringing died down, and all that could be heard were then flames from below. He stood up, exhausted. He caught his breath, and then looked up as another group of agents were waiting at the door.
Is this my end? Hank wondered. Did I really underestimate the skill of the agents? Hank closed his eyes, expecting bullets though his skull, but instead another explosion was heard along with shortly lived screams and gunfire. Hank opened his eyes. A mysterious figure was shooting at the agents emerging from below fiercely, as they went down one by one. Hank tried to figure out who it was, but was too disoriented to see the gunman. After all of the men were dead, the figure paused, then looked at Hank and began approaching him. "Are you going to kill me?" Hank asked the stranger. Hank's eyes adjusted the figure became more clear as he came closer. "No." The figure replied, as Hank looked him in the eye and realised who it was.
It was Sanford.
===Chapter 3===
The third chapter. Hank proceeds with Sanford to continue the assault inside the building. 
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Hank stared at Sanford with surprise. "What the hell are you doing here?!" Hank yelled at him. "I can handle myself!" Sanford pointed at Hank's gunshot wound. "It's obvious that it hurts," Sanford pulled out a roll of bandages and strings from a satchel he was carrying at tossed them at Hank. Hank fumbled and caught them. "Listen." said Sanford in a nicer tone. "You are a good gunman. You are trained in martial arts. But you are just a man." Sanford's face darkened. "So you'd better fucking smarten up before you fucking kill yourself! You're lucky I decided to go after you." He said fiercly.
Hank finished wrapping the bandages around his wounded arm and tightened the strings to keep them in place. He muttered a few curses under his breath and stood up straight. "I'm good," he said. "You can go now." He began walking towards the stairs. Sanford sighed, and then ran up to him. "Are you serious?" Sanford snapped at him. "I probably just saved your fucking life and you're just going to leave and get yourself killed, making my effort useless." Hank did not stop. Sanford stepped in front of him and shook him by the shoulders. "This shit is real!" Sanford yelled. "You cannot go in there alone. You took down a godamn helicopter. I'm impressed. But if those 15 or so men dealed a gunshot wound to you, image what the hundreds of men down there will do to you. You are not God." Hank stopped, then looked up at the sky. The sun was beginning to peak over the horizon, casting a pinkish-orange glow all around. He sighed. "Fine." He said. Sanford's face lightened up. "Then let's go already, before more of them prevent us from going any further."
"You know," said Sanford as the two stepped over several bodies, "You are all brawn, but you are a fucking dumbass. I, however, have both brawn and brain. And Deimos is just weak. But he's got the entire techno whatnots." They stopped at the stairs. "After you," Sanford said. Hank mumbled and began walking down the enclosed staircase. Hank stopped when he reached the door to the third floor. Sanford stumbled into him. "What are you waiting for?" Sanford hissed. Hank pointed downward to a metal gate that blocked their progress downwards. "Well, that's fucking great," Sanford said. Hank spun around. "Can you stop saying 'fuck'?" Hank yelled at him. Sanford was taken by surprise. "Geez, cool it. Don't attract attention," Sanford said quietly. "They're probably in lockdown by now, so it probably doesn't matter anyways." Hank noted. "Probably," Sanford repeated. Hank reached a hand out and opened the door to access the main hallway. "Unlocked," he said.
As they entered the third floor hallway, the smell of cigarettes attacked Hank's senses. "Jesus Christ, it reeks like shit in here," Hank coughed. The hallway was dull, and the floor was olive green tile with yellow specks. The walls were old, but the doors were all brand new, some with top-notch security locks. The hall was illuminated by a few florescent lights on the ceiling and a single window at one end of the hall. The other end broke into a fork of another hall. "The floor here is ugly," Sanford commented. "Yea," Hank added.
Hank took out his PDA and opened up the schematic of the building. He turned to Sanford. "The schematic Deimos sent me says that the Sheriff's office is on the second floor, in the center, a single room surrounded by halls. One door." He said. Sanford looked over the schematic disapprovingly. "There wouldn't be only one entrance in case of an emergency." He said. Hank raised an eyebrow. "You mean like a secret door or a tunnel or something?" he asked. "Maybe, maybe not. But we should remain ready." Sanford replied. Hank nodded and began to walk down the hall. He poked his head around the corner, and looked both ways. No signs of movement. They turned down the left hall and continued. As they walked down the halls, Sanford grew more and more suspicious. "I don't like this," he said. "It's too quiet." The two stopped once more.
"What is it?" Hank asked. Sanford looked around the room for a moment, and then returned his eyes to Hank. "I was expecting an ambush or something. I mean, why would the halls be..." Sanford trailed off as his eyes diverted upward and widened. Hank paused for a moment, looking awkwardly at Sanford. "San?" he asked. He turned around and followed Sanford's gaze to a vent running along the ceiling. Yellowish-brown fumes were pouring out of them. "Shit!" Sanford cried. The two ran backwards to the staircase. The door was locked. "What the fuck?!" Sanford yelled. All of a sudden gunfire was heard from the hall they left, heading straight for them.
The two dropped to the floor and pulled out their weapons and began returning fire. Sanford pulled out two cloths from his satchel and tossed one to Hank. Covering their mouths with the cloths, they returned fire once more. "We have no cover!" Hank panicked. Sanford nodded frantically as they looked around for a way out. Hank immediately began firing at the window behind him. The bullets cracked the glass, but did not shatter. "It's bullet-proof!" He cried. Sanford pointed to a door that had a metal lock on it, and shot the lock until it broke. The two dashed inside and slammed the door shut. There was no lock from the inside, so they didn`t have much time. Sanford removed his cloth and began coughing. Hank did the same. The room was quite small and was damp. Boxes and crates littered the room and moisture dripped from pipes running along the walls. The two paused for a moment. "Ready?" Sanford asked. "Ready." Hank complied. The two covered their mouths with the cloths again and swung the door open, firing away.
Sanford took cover by the doorway and shot at the now visible agents attacking them. They were wearing gas masks. Sanford shot an agent twice in the chest and killed him, and repeated the process with another. "Why don't you aim for the head?" Hank called out. "Wait and see," Sanford replied. Sanford pulled out a smoke bomb from his satchel and tossed it at the agents. A moment later the hall was filled with smoke from the bomb and gases from the vents. "Cover me!" Sanford yelled as he ran out into the hall. "Wait!" Hank began to protest, but he was too late.
He positioned himself in Sanford's previous cover-spot and began firing. A moment later, Sanford returned with two gas masks from the dead agents he killed earlier. "You see my logic?" He said as he gave one to Hank. They both pulled on the masks inside the room they were in. Hank grinned as he finished adjusting the straps. Sanford gave a thumbs up as they returned to the doorway and continued firing. Hank directed his gaze to the locked stairway door. Feeling useless because there was only one point to fire from- which was occupied by Sanford- he began shooting around the doorknob area of the stairway door. Soon after penetrating a thin layer of wood, clangs were heard when the bullets hit the door.
There was a layer of metal between the wood. Hank cursed to himself and paced around, anxious for a kill. He poked Sanford on the shoulder. He turned and looked up at him. "Mind if I have a go?" Hank asked. Sanford shook his head. "No, I think I got them all." He replied. Hank sighed and holstered his weapon. "Cheer up," Sanford said through the gas mask. "I'll let you have the first shot at the Sheriff." They both chuckled a bit and then cautiously entered the hallway once more. The atmosphere was now even worse; the entire hall was tinted with heavy grey-yellow fumes. Hank tapped Sanford on the shoulder and moved in front of him. They stepped over yet another pile of bodies. Sanford tripped on a body and almost fell over. "Fuck, I can't see a thing," he mumbled. They decided to turn down the right hall this time instead of the left.
They eventually reached the end of the hall. Nothing was there of interest. "There must be another staircase or something," Hank said. He felt around with his hand and touched cold metal. As he moved his hand along, he felt patches of worn paint. He looked up and saw a small light above the door. The light illuminated the number 2, but then switched to another light showing the number 3. A dinging tone sounded. "San, agents are coming up in the elevator!" The two ducked away from the elevator as the door opened. Three agents popped out, a few shots were fired. Three agents went down. Sanford and Hank dashed inside the elevator just as the doors closed.
They panted heavily. Hank looked up at Sanford. It was hard to see his expressions through the gas mask. The elevator was mostly clear of smoke, so it was much easier to look around. Wood paneling covered the walls, and the button console was metal and somewhat rusty. A mirror was on the back wall. Hank turned around and examined himself. His sleeve was coloured dark red with dried-up blood, and his jacket was covered with sweat. He could see dark bags under his eyes behind his mask. He smiled at his appearance. Sanford waited no longer and pushed the button on the console labelled 2. "Second floor, Assassination." He joked as the elevator began to descend.
===Chapter 4===
The fourth chapter. Hank and Sanford break into the Sheriff's office and find minor evidence.
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The elevator made a low humming noise as it slowly descended to the floor below them. Sanford began drumming his fingers rapidly. "Fuck, this thing is slow," He mumbled. A cheerful elevator tune was playing on the elevator speaker above them. It was slowly driving them insane. Hank and Sanford glanced at each other, knowing that each was thinking the same thing as the other. The familiar dinging tone sounded and Hank and Sanford backed against each side of the door. The elevator door opened.
There was silence. Hank, expecting gunfire to be coming through the open gap, was tense and his finger was on the verge of firing his weapon. The two paused for a second, and then peeked out of the door. Nothing. Sanford shrugged as the two walked out of the elevator. The door closed behind them as the exited. Hank and Sanford entered a back-to-back formation as Sanford looked down one end of the hall as Hank looked down the other.
Down the left hall, which Sanford was observing, continued for a short period until it was met with a big caution banner reading, "Caution- Under construction. Area closed off." The rest of the hallway down had floor tiling and doors ripped out. Several crates crowded the area. At the end, a single window with only its frame intact existed.
Hank looked down the right hall. It continued all the way to the other end of the building, a single window was placed at the end. "Seems to be a running theme," Hank commented. About halfway down, on the left side of the hall, two more halls existed; about one room could fit between them. The rest of the hall was again littered with doors. Most were wooden, however, and did not have as many complex locks. Each door had a small window in it. Each window was covered with a garbage bag from the inside.
Hank returned his attention to the two halls. "I think the Sheriff's office is over there," he said to Sanford as he pointed in the general direction of the halls. Sanford turned around. "Matches the schematic layout, I suppose," he said. They began walking down the hall, weapons still drawn in case of another ambush. The halls had no smoke in them, so the two removed their gas masks. Sanford stored them in his satchel. Hank turned down the first hall and followed. The hall was short, and at the end broke into another long hallway like the first. In the center of the hall on the left side, a wooden door existed, but with a bigger window, but with blinds on the inside. They were closed.
Hank glanced at Sanford. He nodded at Hank. They positioned themselves at both sides of the door, and paused. "Now," said Hank. He twirled around and kicked down the door. His weapon pointed and prepared to fire, he scanned the room.
In the center was a large wooden desk, with an office chair behind it. Two leather sofas occupied the left and right sides, and certificates and awards covered the walls. Two ceiling lamps illuminated the room. On the wooden desk was a plaque with the name James Arthur engraved on it and a dusty sheriff's badge placed beside it. Hank walked around the large desk, and checked under it; no one. No one was in the room. Hank slumped down in the chair behind the desk and holstered his weapon. He sighed. "He's not here," he said. "He's not here!" Hank pounded the desk and rattled the objects placed upon it. Sanford stared at the ceiling for a moment, and then returned his gaze to Hank. "Pass me your headset and your PDA." He said. "Why?" Hank grumbled. "Just give them to me," "Fine," Hank passed him the PDA and headset.
Sanford put the headset on and pushed a couple buttons. "Deimos?" He asked into the headset. "Deimos, do you copy?" The room was silent. "Pick up the fucking radio godamnit!" He cried. No response. "Fuck, Deimos... just answer..." Sanford said quietly. But no response came. "Fuck!" Sanford threw the headset across the room. "I just knew the Sheriff wouldn't be here!" He tossed Hank's PDA onto the desk and began pacing. Hank slumped further into the chair and began rubbing his temples with his fingers.
Sanford stopped pacing. "Hank, do you know the evacuation plan?" He asked. Hank looked up. "...No, I didn't think to look it up. I thought that I would be in and I would-" "Fuck, Hank!" Sanford interrupted. "I thought you would've had a better Plan A than this!" Sanford sat down on one of the leather couches. "And Deimos is probably dead now..." he muttered. The room went silent.
A few moments passed. Sanford stared at the floor, picking at a crack in the tiles. After a few more moments, Sanford looked up at Hank. "Search the desk," he said. "Why?" Hank asked. "Just..." Sanford sighed. Hank stared at Sanford momentarily and then opened up the first drawer of the desk. Several stacks of papers were crammed inside, and a revolver was to the right of the stack. Hank pulled it out and tossed it around in his hands, then placed it on the desk. He then noticed a small black box in the drawer. Hoping it was something significant, he picked it up and opened it.
It was a coin collection. The case was filled with old-to-new silver dollars. Hank threw the box at the wall with disappointment. The coins scattered. He closed the drawer and opened the one below it. More papers were inside, and a long red box was on top of them. Hank, still hopeful, picked up the red box. It was locked. Hank picked up the revolver on the desk and pulled the trigger at the lock. Nothing happened. "Who keeps an unloaded gun in their office?" He asked as he tossed it to Sanford. Sanford began examining the gun. Hank groaned and pulled out his weapon. He pulled the trigger and a loud gunshot broke the silence. The lock broke open. Hank removed the broken lock and opened the box. Inside were several sheets of paper of different colours filled with symbols. Hank looked over the papers, confused. Each sheet varied from red, blue, yellow, orange, purple, and green. Each paper was filled with typed sentences encrypted with symbols. "Hank looked up at Sanford. What do you make of these?" he asked as he leaned over and offered the box to Sanford. Just as Sanford reached for the box, Hank cried out in pain and flung backwards as the box fell to the floor along with the papers. "What?" Sanford panicked. Hank was clenching his wounded arm tightly. "Shit, this thing hurts," he said.
"Geez, how bad could it be?" said Sanford. He bent down to pick up the box and papers. Once he had gathered them, he observed each sheet closely. "Hmm," he mumbled. He put the sheets back into the red box and closed the lid. "We should look at these more closely later." He said. The two were interrupted by the sound of tires screeching. Sanford and Hank jumped up and ran out the door. They ran down the hall to the nearest window.
Outside, a vehicle was driving away from the building, rushing down the nearby road. "Fuck, that's probably the Sheriff," said Sanford. Hank muttered something under his breath. "Figures. He'd rather risk running away than look at me in the eyes," he said. "Yea, what a pussy," agreed Sanford. He turned around and began walking down the hall. "We should probably get going. If the Sheriff is gone, we'll only find more of his goons. Besides, we've got some goodies to look at." He said. Hank raised an eyebrow, more anxious to get a shot at the Sheriff than figure out a bunch of child's puzzles. "Fine. Up or down?" he asked. Sanford turned his head toward Hank, but continued walking forward. "Well, the roof access door won't be opening any time soon, so down it is." He said. They walked toward the elevator and pushed the button next to the door labelled with a downward arrow.
When they reached the main floor, a somewhat more welcoming appearance greeted them. The tiles were the same colour, but the walls appeared to be more taken care of, and were painted peach. No doors appeared to have any visible locks, and they were all painted brown. Lit signs attached to the ceilings directed them toward the exit. Sanford grinned. "Shall we?" he asked and began walking down the hall. They soon entered the main lobby, the front desk was brown, and two chairs were located behind it. A wine-coloured rug covered most of the floor. The front doors, which were previously boarded up, were now flung open. "I'm surprised we didn't encounter another ambush," Hank muttered. Sanford turned to Hank. "I guess all the goons down here followed the Sheriff out. It seems they were smart enough." He said. As they walked to the open doors, Hank stopped. A familiar scent struck his senses. He looked toward the floor; a single cigarette butt was on the ground, still smoking. Hank mumbled and crushed the butt with his boot as he followed Sanford out the door.
===Chapter 5===
The fifth chapter. The first part takes place from Deimos' perspective, Kim is introduced. Hank and Sanford return to the warehouse.
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Deimos rolled over on the bed, with a big grin on his face. "That was fun, wasn't it?" He chuckled. Deimos leaned over the bed and picked up a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. "Do you have to smoke so often?" A voice came from the other end of the bed. Deimos mumbled a few words but they were muffled whilst he began puffing his now-lit cigg. He puffed out a swirl of smoke, and then turned towards the person on the other side of the bed. "H. won't let me smoke when he's in, so I try to smoke as much as possible when he's out," he said. The other person sat up in the bed. It was a woman. She was slim, and had short brown hair and green eyes. "I don't like smokers," she said. Deimos puffed on his cigarette again. "Well, you're not getting paid for nothing, now are ya?" he replied.
The woman reached an arm out and slapped Deimos across the face. "I'm not a hooker, Deimi!" she cried. "I never said you were," Deimos replied quietly. She sat straight up on the bed and began putting her clothes on. "I can't believe we just had sex, you're such an asshole!" she yelled. Deimos tossed the cigarette on the floor. "Kim, c'mon, don't be like this!" He got up and reached out a sympathetic hand. Kim slapped it away. "Just leave me be, and put some pants on for Christ's sake!" She pulled on a pair of pants and a purple tank top, and left the room. Deimos sighed, and then sat back down on the bed.
Kim began rummaging through the fridge in the main area, and pulled out a bottle of beer and began drinking. Deimos emerged out of the bedroom, wearing a pair of boxers. "Will you ever be sober?" he asked. Kim didn't even glance at him, and continued drinking. "That beer is San's, y'know." said Deimos. Kim removed the bottle from her lips and gasped, coughing. She then set the mostly empty bottle on the counter. She sighed. "Oh, I'm sorry Deimi, you know how I get when I don't drink..." she said. Deimos rolled his eyes. "Yea, you act like a normal woman," he said. "...Actually, you're never quite normal anyways, now are you?" Kim began walking to the old couch against the wall. "Whatevs," she said calmly. It went quiet for a moment. "You know," Kim said, "I asked you to put some pants on, not your boxers," Deimos rolled his eyes and walked back into the bedroom.
Deimos shuffled around in the closet in the bedroom, and eventually located a pair of jeans. After half putting them on, he heard the sound of the warehouse door opening up. "Kim? Wait!" Deimos ran to go after her, but then stumbled in his half-on jeans and flopped onto the bed. He shook his legs until they went flying off of his feet, and then ran out into the main area.
The warehouse door closed. Deimos stood standing for a few seconds, and then sighed. He picked himself up and went and re-barred the door and put up the locks once more. He then walked over to the table in the center of the room, and sat down. He then began drumming his fingers on the wood. After about a minute passed, Deimos forced himself up and walked over to the door that lead to the bathroom.
Moments later, Deimos re-immerged from the bathroom and walked over to the old couch that Kim had been sitting on and picked up his headphones which were on the floor beside it. He brought the headphones back over to the center table and sat down. He put the headphones over his ears and let time fly.
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Deimos woke with a shock to the sound of metal squealing loudly and fell backwards in the chair he was in and hit the hard floor. Half awake, he got up and stumbled across the room, and picked up the nearest rifle he could find, and pointed it at the source of the noise. He found himself staring at Hank and Sanford. Deimos dropped his weapon on the floor and ran up to Sanford and gave him a hug. "Aw, shucks, I missed you guys!" he cried. "Get the fuck off me!" Sanford yelped as he shoved Deimos off of him, sending him stumbling across the room once more. Hank, seemingly unknowing of Deimos' presence, walked over to the weapons racks and began unloading.
Sanford walked up to Deimos. "Why the fuck didn't you answer the radio?!" he yelled. "We thought you could've been dead!" Deimos looked around the room clueless as what to respond, and began blushing. Sanford looked at Deimos in disgust. "You brought home that hooker again, didn't you?" he said. Deimos stared at Sanford innocently. "She's not a hooker, she's my girlfriend," he said. Sanford threw his hands up in the air. "Jesus Christ, Deimos! While we needed you, you were busy fucking that brunette?!" He picked up Deimos and shook him by the shoulders. "Fuck, we need to get serious here!" Sanford shoved Deimos to the floor again and stormed off to the bathroom. He slammed the door shut.
Hank, now without his goggles, jacket, and weaponry, extended a hand to Deimos. Deimos looked up at Hank, and then gratefully grabbed the open palm. Hank pulled Deimos off the floor and the two sat down at the center table. Hank stared at Deimos. Deimos looked around the room, trying to find something to change the subject. Once he couldn't find anything suitable, he returned his attention the Hank.
Hank was half blind without his goggles on, but his scarred and bloodshot eyes starred Deimos down. Impressions were left on his face from wearing the goggles all day. "Listen," Deimos said. "I messed up. I couldn't help myself, a man gets lonely sitting in a warehouse for hours and-" "Look, it's fine. Just don't... don't forget about your job." Hank interrupted. Deimos, surprised that Hank hadn't smashed his skull in, breathed out a sigh of relief. "Well, err, umm, yes sir!" he replied. The room went quiet. "So," Deimos began to say, but then turned his gaze to the bandages around Hank's bloodied left arm. "Ouch," he said. "How'd you get that?"
Hank glanced at his wound, and began rubbing it with his other hand. "I was a fool, I wasn't watching my back and one of the Sheriff's agents nailed me in the arm. Soon after that Sanford came flying in." He said. Deimos slumped back into his chair and was about to reach for the nearest pack of smokes, but then remembered Hank was in front of him, so he muttered some quiet words and then pulled back his arm. "Yea, well I tried to stop him from going, but he insisted that he go after you. I even told him a very convincing speech about how skilled you are and that you could handle yourself. But he said that you were just a man, and that you'd-" "...Better smarten before I fucking get myself killed?" Hank blurted out and stood up. Deimos jumped back. "Yea, how'd you-" Hank sat back down and sighed. "He told me when he 'saved the day'." Hank leaned back in his chair and sighed again.
"He's right, I'm addicted to killing people and I don't care about myself anymore," he said. Hank put his palm to his face and combed his fingers through his short black hair. "Hey, are you-?" Deimos began to say, but then Hank stood up and began to walk to the bedroom adjacent to the one Deimos had been in. He stopped a short distance away from the doorway and turned to Deimos again with his bloodshot eyes. "By the way," he said. "You should probably put some pants on," and then entered the bedroom and closed the door.
Deimos looked down and realised that he was still in his boxers. "Right," he said to himself and walked into the bedroom he had been in before. He saw his jeans still on the floor and picked them up. Deimos shrugged, and then pulled them on. He then dug through the closet once more and found a grey t-shirt with the words "1 8M L33T H8X0RZ" on the front. He chucked to himself and tossed it on. He left the bedroom, and Sanford was sitting at the center table.
Deimos walked over and sat down next to him. "Please don't hit me again," said Deimos. Sanford looked up at him. "I'm not going to hit you again," He replied. "We need your brain intact for now." Sanford removed his satchel and placed it on the table and removed the red box and revolver. Deimos raised an eyebrow. "What's this? The Sheriff's ashes?" Sanford looked at him with a serious expression. "No," he said. "We didn't even get a shot at the Sheriff." Sanford passed the box and gun to Deimos. "Well, that sucks," he said as he began examining the items.
Deimos opened the box and looked curiously at the coloured papers inside. "What do you think?" asked Sanford. Deimos set down the box and removed the red sheet of paper. He squinted his eyes as he thoroughly scanned over the symbols. Sanford leaned over and joined Deimos at looking over the papers. "Some of them resemble English letters, but the rest I can't really figure out what-" "You don't know what this is?" Deimos interrupted. "No, why?" Sanford replied. Deimos slapped his palm to his forehead. "This is Russian alphabet." he said.
"Wait, seriously?" Sanford questioned. Deimos sighed. "You don't even know what other language's letters look like?" Deimos set the papers on the table. "Go find a translator or something." He said.
===Chapter 6===
The sixth chapter. This chapter focuses on Hank's character as he tends to his wound and relives past memories. Sanford and Deimos ponder over the papers found at the Sheriff's office. Note: The chapter introduces proper writing format.
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Hank lay quietly on his bed. It was worn, old, and squeaked a lot, but it was comfortable. He removed his shirt, revealing several scars on his back and chest. He reached his arm over and gripped his would. It felt wet. He glanced at his hand, and although his vision was blurry without his goggles, he could tell it was bleeding badly. He turned over and cringed at the sharp aching in his arm, but forced himself to stop showing his pain.
I'm stronger than this, I've taken bullets before.
Hank stopped and thought for a moment, and decided he should probably inspect his hole of missing flesh. Hank, although tired, got up from his short-lived comfort of sleepiness, his only comfort since his parents had died.
He opened the bedroom door, and Sanford and Deimos were at the table inspecting the several coloured papers they had found earlier. Deimos was typing on his laptop which was now at the table with them.
"This one says 'Bravo Five'. I don't get it, these are all just lists of random code fragments." Deimos mumbled.
"Then why the fuck are they in Russian?" Sanford muttered in reply.
"I don't know. It looks like a system of unlock codes that are used by the military, but why would the Sheriff have these?" Deimos starred at the red, blue, yellow, orange and green papers.
Hank stopped for a moment and approached the table. "Anything significant?" he inquired.
"Not really," Deimos replied. "Just a bunch of codes for something we don't even know."
Hank pondered over the papers. Jumbled looking letters and dashed covered them. Then, something occurred to him. He shuffled through the papers, and bent down and looked under the table.
"Listen H.," Deimos said mockingly, "I know you enjoy the view down there but I'm not in the mood."
Sanford began laughing, as Hank got back up from under the table. Whilst the two seemed humoured and casual, Hank kept a serious expression on his face.
"Where is the purple one?" He asked.
Sanford began to calm down. "Wait, what?" he asked.
"The purple paper. There was a purple paper when I saw them in the Sheriff's office."
Sanford stopped laughing and looked at the papers again. "Oh... fuck." He said.
"What?" asked Deimos.
"Fuck, we must've dropped one of the papers when we were heading back here." Sanford said angrily.
Hank placed his hands down on the table. "Relax." He said. "We got most of them, that's what counts. Considering that they were locked up, they must have been valuable to the Sheriff. So we've struck a small blow here. Sure, it's not as great as sawing off his fingers for answers and then blowing his brains out, but at least we've taken out some of his man power and secrets."
Sanford sipped on a glass of beer that he had on the table. "Nothing is more dangerous than an angry animal," he said.
"Wise words, Einstein," Deimos commented.
A drop of red liquid dripped onto the papers. Hank looked down, and remembered his arm.
"Your arm is still bleeding," Sanford said.
"Yea, I know," Hank replied, and got up from the table and cradled his arm to the bathroom.
Sanford and Deimos exchanged glances, and shrugged.
Hank closed the door behind him and locked it. The bathroom was fairly small, and only consisted of one urinal, one stall, one sink, and pieces of a smashed janitor's bucket in the corner accompanied by a mop. Below the sink was a large cardboard box. Only half of a mirror was intact above it. The floor was covered with a dull purple and blue tile, which once can imagine was vibrant once in its existence. The walls were a dusty off-white.
Hank lifted his bare arm over the sink. The bandages were dyed completely red, and the center of them was still wet. Hank carefully untied the strings that were supposed to cease the blood circulation, and unwrapped the red bandages that were held in place by them. Hank gazed at the sight of his wound.
Ouch.
The wound was a mess. Blood covered the area of the wound, and some areas had crusted spots of dried blood. The wound still felt raw, and stung when the wound breathed in fresh air. Hank slowly turned around and looked at the back of his arm in the mirror half on the wall. There was no exit wound.
No wonder this godamn thing hurts so much.
The bullet was still embedded in his arm. Hank had little idea of where it was lodged, but if it had only hit muscle, the bullet should have passed through. It must have hit bone.
Hank dared to touch his seemingly still fresh wound, and almost cried out in pain. Adrenaline kicked in, and memories of his past flashed through his mind. Blood. Blood everywhere. Only five years old, he sat in a pool of blood. His mother's blood.
Hank knew a hospital would be the best for him, but he dared not risk himself falling into the hands of the authorities. The doctors would ask too many questions, and it wouldn't be long before 50 S.W.A.T. vans had surrounded the building. He decided to shove the idea out the window.
With his properly working arm, Hank retrieved the cardboard box from under the sink. Inside contained several medical supplies. He retrieved a bottle of analgesics, cotton swabs, alcohol, a needle, and a rubber strap. He tied off his arm with the rubber strap, and used the needle to inject himself with the analgesics. He waited for a few moments, and felt an almost instantaneous relief of pain in his arm, followed by a comforting numb feeling. He then applied alcohol to the swabs and began to clean his wound.
Cleaning. When the police had arrived to find young Hank crying in his mother's blood, his father was there with them. The warmth of his father's affection had comforted him once, like the numbing of pain-killers. A false warmth, but a warmth at the time. When the police had cleaned the scene, it was like it never even happened.
Several minutes later, Deimos knocked on the door.
"Hey H., you alright in there?" his muffled voice inquired.
"Yea, I'm fine," Hank replied.
"You're not playing with your sausage, are you?" Deimos joked.
"No, I'm not!" Hank hissed, frustrated. "Get lost."
"Whatever you say, H.,"
As Hank heard Deimos' steps fade away, he continued to work on his wound. Without any surgical tools, Hank could not get the bullet out on his own.
He felt so incapable. When his father brought him home after his mother's murder, he had no one to rely on but him. He rarely encountered his distant family. But the worst had yet to come.
When he did all that he could for his arm, he rubbed the area around his missing flesh with lotion, then applied new bandages to his arm and taped them in place. Hank put away the medical supplies, but took the analgesics and needle and placed them in a small brown box found with the supplies. He unlocked the bathroom door, and took the box out with him.
Back in the main area, Deimos was sitting back at the center table, listening to music. The papers were returned to their former red box. Sanford was lying on the couch, grateful of any rest time he could obtain. A half empty bottle of beer stood on the floor below him. Morning sun came in through the dusty windows, and burned Hank's eyes.
Burning. The pain of warmth. A warmth not of comfort, but of pain. Like his father. His father once told him stories, stories of his mother going to a better place, that it was her destiny to die the way she did. God had come to him, he would say.
When Hank walked across the room, Deimos looked up.
"Did ya have fun? You were in there for half an hour." he mumbled.
Hank turned to Deimos and stared at him with cold eyes. They both were still, as if like statues. After a moment had passed, Hank returned to his formed resting place and slammed the door. Deimos shrugged and lit a cigarette.
Smoke. It blinded the truth. Through it, you could see nothing. His father once told him stories, stories that an angel had visited him in his sleep. The angel told him it was time, he would say.
Hank once more lay down on the old bed, and closed his eyes.
Before he slept that one night was that last time he saw his father alive. He was found the next morning, dead with a gun in his hand.
Hank thought over the events of the past hours, and curled up under the bed sheets. He tried to shove out the thoughts of his past, but he couldn't. He lay there, like a child, and cried. After several minutes had past, Hank calmed himself by thinking of the Sheriff's head on a platter. Hank could not take this any longer. He needed a kill. The next night, the time will come. And then, like nocturnal bird, he allowed his subconscious to take over him as the sun indicated the start of a new day.
Category:Written Media