Hank woke with a start, rubbing at his sore neck. Why was his back aching more than if he had slept on the ground? Looking down, he noticed he had at some point fallen asleep on the couch that he really needed to replace, with Rye sleeping on his lap. Seeing her still there, Hank slowly reached down, and gently ran his hand through her hair. It was somewhat addicting, feeling the soft strands between his fingers. Sighing softly, Hank reached for his communicator, and saw that it was only around 4 AM. Unfortunately for him, Doc seemed to magically know that Hank had at that moment checked his communicator. 'Hank, for the last time, answer or I'm going to break into your house and beat you awake.'
'I'm here. What happened?'
'I did some digging on this "Ragnarök", and I've found something interesting. There are four members, and most of their files are completely blacked out. Of course, I had Deimos work his magic, and found out that most of the members are veterans within the Agency, having served at least five years. However, it seems that this Fenrir fellow is still a fresh face, only being under their employ for around six months. And then there's the age difference between him and the rest of the squad.'
'Oh? So, what? He's only 18 or something?'
'No, Hank. He's not the youngest. He's the oldest, at 45 years. Fenrir looks remarkably good for his age, although that can be explained with a great exercise plan and good diet.'
Hank blinked, somewhat surprised. Fenrir had looked pretty good for his mid-forties. Hank idly wondered if he would even hit his thirties. 'Okay, so what makes any of this important?'
'Well, there's a piece of information in the file that I want verified. It's in a lightly guarded facility that's going to be dumping everything inside by the end of the week.'
'I'm guessing you want me to find something inside as soon as I can?'
'Correct. It'll be located in Hall-C, Room 4. Here's the coordinates. -74.1899717, 100.0895366'
Hank let out a quiet hum. The coordinates seemed to lead to a lone building in the middle of fuck-all nowhere. Which was honestly typical for the Agency. Looking down to Rye's still sleeping form, the man let out a small, quiet groan. He really wanted to just sit there and just relax for a few more hours, but Hank knew better than to procrastinate when it came to missions from Doc. 'I'll be heading out in a few minutes.'
'Oh? And what's so important it can't wait until after you're back?'
'None of your goddamn business.' With that, Hank tucked the communicator back into his coat. Running his hand through Rye's hair one last time, he gently lifted her head off of his lap, and slid off of the couch, gently setting her head down. The bartender let out a grumble, shifting slightly. Hank let out a sigh, and gently slid his arms under Rye, picking her up in a bridal carry. The woman stirred a bit, before nuzzling into Hank's chest. Stupid cute Rye...
Hank carried her to his bedroom, and gently set her down onto his bed. Hank slowly, moved his arms away, letting out a sigh of relief that he hadn't woken her up. At least, that's what he thought, until he turned around, and heard her shift on the bed, and let out a soft groan. "Hank...?"
Hank would have bit his tongue if that wouldn't just rip it in half. The man turned, seeing Rye rubbing at her eyes groggily. "Shit. Hey, didn't mean to wake you."
Rye let out a hum, burying her head into a pillow. "What's up...?"
Hank let out a sigh. "I have a mission I need to go do. Just go back to sleep. I'll stop by the bar when I'm done." Rye let out a small hum, too tired to do anything other than go back to sleep. Pausing at the doorway, Hank stared for a few moments, before he forced himself to get moving again. Hank made his way to his car, loading it up with some gear. Binoculars to scout the exterior, a suppressed MP7, Glock 20, Walther PPK, and a machete for the hell of it.
The building wasn't as big as Hank had been expecting. There was only two guards per entrance, and no snipers scanning the area from the rooftop. It seemed to not be that important if there was barely anyone keeping this place guarded. The hell could possibly be here that Doc wants? Figuring he'd find out once he got inside, Hank had an easy time sneaking up to the side of the building, quickly dispatching the two guards at the front entrance, putting another bullet in both of their heads out of boredom.
Immediately inside, Hank fired twice into a L33T Agent's chest. The killing machine ducked behind a crate, hearing two shots hit his cover. He waited for a second, before leaping up and firing at the two Agents standing next to each other, spraying lead into their upper bodies. Landing cleanly, Hank glanced around the room. Square, with another door on the opposite wall from the entrance. Bare walls aside from 'motivational' and wanted posters. Just another cookie cutter building from the Agency. Kicking up a 1911 into his off hand, Hank carried on through the door, noticing the room he stepped into was much larger, and with more doors lining the wall next to him. 'Hall-A' up to 'Hall-J' were displayed above the doors. Strolling over to Hall-C, Hank glanced to the other end of the room, raising his newly acquired handgun just in case. With no incident occurring strolled into Hall-C, finding three doors on either wall before a dead-end.
Glancing up above the doors, Hank let out a small huff when he saw that there wasn't any way to tell which one was Room 4. Time for trial and error. Worst case scenario, he called up Doc for clarification on just what the hell he was supposed to find. Heading to the closest room, Hank opened the door and saw a goddamn supply closet. Alright, easy so far. Going to the opposite door, Hank found what looked to be a small morgue. Probably not.
Hank moved up to the next room, finding what looked like an archive room, with boxes full of files, and other dusty trash that nobody even probably remembered. Setting the 1911 down onto a box, Hank scanned for anything that could narrow down what he was supposed to be looking for. After a minute of aimlessly skimming labels, Hank let out a sigh, and pulled out his communicator, typing out a quick message. 'Doc, what am I supposed to be looking for?'
'Should be in locker 2-A. Just tell me the name on the tag.' Hank blinked, glancing around the room for a moment. No lockers whatsoever. Tag...
Hank sighed. Back to the morgue then. Returning to the other room, Hank saw that it had a few gurneys, and other things he figured belonged with whatever happened to bodies once he or the others were done with them. Idly opening the locker Doc had given him, Hank didn't give the corpse much attention. Looking at the tag, Hank memorized the name, before blinking, and leaning in to make sure he was reading the info right. Actually taking a good look at the body, the man stood there for a moment, processing exactly what he was seeing. And once he did, he quickly sent Doc a message. 'Why am I looking at a dead kid Doc'
'Like I told you before, I want something verified. Name.'
Hank breathed in deeply, ignoring the faint smell of rotting flesh. 'Devin Hasting.'
'That lines up. Thank you for this, Hank.'
'Next time warn me about something like this.' Hank didn't bother waiting for Doc's reply before he stuffed it back into his coat. Just as Hank was closing the locker, an alarm began to blare out, causing the man to flinch. "Who the fuck..."
"HANK J WIMBLETONE IS INSIDE THE BUILDING! REPEAT. HANK J WIMBLETON IS INSIDE THE BUILDING!"
If Hank still had his real jaw, he'd be grinding his teeth together in annoyance. Dumbass Agency really decided to alert everyone in the building that they were going to die. Well, it would give him something to do on the way out at the very least. Hank checked the magazine for his MP7, then removed the suppressor. Time for a workout.
Exiting the room, Hank shot thrice into an Agent's head at the end the the hallway, quickly pulling out his Glock, and firing two shots into another Agent chest as they entered the hall. Quickly stepping over the body, Hank glanced out the doorway into the large room, finding makeshift cover scattered around the space. There were around ten regular Agents, half a dozen L33T Agents, a few of A.T.P Engineers, and a Soldat.
Leaping out into the room, Hank unloaded the rest of his MP7 into the group of L33T Agents, taking out all but one. Diving behind the closest piece of cover, Hank tossed the spent SMG away, and unsheathed the machete he had brought along. There was a cacophony of gunfire, most of it hitting Hank's cover ineffectively, while some shots somehow managed to go wide. Rolling his eyes, Hank waited for a lull in the hail, before rushing out from his cover, firing a single shot into the last L33T Agent's head, the body dropping to the floor in a heap. Those that weren't equipped with firearms rushed forward, probably figuring that they would overwhelm Hank with sheer numbers.
Hank leaned back, avoiding a crowbar by inches, before retaliating with a swing from his machete that embedded itself into the side of the Agent's head. The killing machine yanked the blade back, twisting the dead Agent's neck as it came loose. Bringing his machete up to deflect a knife from slamming down onto his head, Hank brought up his Glock to under the Agent's chin, shooting twice and spraying blood and grey matter out into the air.
Taking a step back, Hank stabbed into the next Agent, using his dying body to avoid another four gunshots, the bullets impacting the body and stopping midway through. Yanking his blade out from the Agent, Hank quickly fired two shots, hitting one of the Engineers in the throat, and the Soldat through the eye, yellow blood splattering across the wall. The man rushed forward, weaving between gunshots, slashing another Agent's throat with the machete. The remaining Engineers darted away from each other, aiming to surround Hank, which wouldn't really change their chances all too much.
Hank threw the machete, embedding it into the chest of the Engineer in front of him, as he raised his Glock behind him firing twice. Hearing the body of the other Engineer drop, Hank would have smiled if he still had a full pair of lips. Turning to face the remaining Agents that were only equipped with shitty pipes and knives, the man raised a hand, taunting the group to rush at it.
And like the dumbasses they were, they did. Hank ducked under a heavy swing from a pipe, and slammed the Glock into the attacker's face, firing three times into their chest as they fell backwards. The next Agent stabbed at Hank's neck, the man stepping to the side and firing another two shots into the Agent's stomach, the Agent dropping with a faint whimper. Kicking the dropped knife up into his empty hand, Hank stepped forward, stabbing the blade up into the next Agent's jaw, twisting and snapping the blade from the hilt. Discarding the useless hilt from his hand, Hank fired the last shots of the Glock into the group of Agents, two dropping to the ground. One of the last Agents rushed forward, only to have their throat grabbed, and thrown to the floor, their head then caved in from Hank's boot slamming down onto it.
Then Hank felt a rush of pain blossom from the back of his head. Rubbing at the pained spot at the back of his head, Hank looked at the fresh blood on his hand. Turning around to the last Agent shaking with a pipe in their grip, Hank let out a small sigh. The Agent threw the pipe to the floor, throwing their hands up in surrender. Unfortunately, it wasn't enough to spare them from Hank's wrath.
Slowly picking up the pipe that had slammed into the back of his head, Hank walked over to the Agent. Pulling out the Walther PPK, Hank emptied the entire magazine into the Agent's legs. Screaming out in agony, the Agent began to beg for their life, Hank tuning out the words with an ease that came from hearing the same begging a hundred times before. Raising the pipe, Hank swung down onto the Agent's head, quieting poor bastard, but not quite silencing them. So Hank swung again, and again. And again.
And again.
When Hank stopped swinging, the Agent's skull had caved in, looking more like a pile of meat than a person's head. Tossing the pipe that had bent in half at some point aside, Hank rubbed at his face. He really needed a drink.
Rye leaned against the bar, idly tapping at the wood. It had been a slow day, with only a few customers to give her a break from the boredom. After another couple of minutes of absolutely nothing happening, the bartender decided to go on break. Taking one of the bottles and grabbing a glass, Rye poured herself a drink, taking small sips, knowing better than to get drunk during work. It had taken a couple times for that particular lesson to drill itself into her head.
Hearing the door open as she was about halfway through her glass, Rye let out a quiet sigh. "Sorry, I'm on break right now. I'll be with you in about ten minutes."
"Damn, no special service for friends? Man, and here I thought I could just walk in and have a drink and wings." Rye jerked her head up, setting her drink down, and turning her attention to Sanford.
"Oh, shit. Sorry Sanford, didn't realize it was you. So what is it you want, I'll get it real quick."
Sanford shook his head, taking a seat and leaning on the table with crossed arms. "Nah, you're on break. I know better than to fuck with someone's break time. Besides, I could use the time to talk."
"Sure. What do you wanna talk about? Random bullshit again?"
Sanford shook his head, a smirk forming on his lips. "Nah, I'm more interested in how 'Operation Hanky-panky' is going."
Rye was thankful that she hadn't been drinking at that moment, as her breath caught in her throat. "Dammit Sanford we agreed that was a terrible name and we weren't going to call it anything."
"Eh, it's funny. And not funny in the way Deimos think stupid bullshit is funny. So, give me details on how it's been going so far. I wanted to get you alone and discuss this yesterday but, well, yesterday was kind of a giant shitshow all around."
Rye let out a groan, flopping her body onto the table. "Don't even remind me. I mean, you guys have down time, right? Like, it's not constant missions and sleeping? I'm not crazy for thinking that, am I?"
"Nah, it was just some real bad luck that the Agency had whatever the hell they were doing yesterday. Bright side, it went about ten times smoother than how it usually does. I mean, Hank didn't even rip off some dude's face that time."
Rye blinked, then poked at an ear, pretty sure that she had heard wrong. "I'm sorry, did you say Hank ripped a man's face off once?"
"Oh no, not even once. It's happened a few times, usually only when he's real pissed. Like, 'thrown across like half a mile and now he has to clear out another building full of Agents' kind of pissed. I haven't seen it happen myself, but considering the way Deimos gets whenever it gets brought up, I'm kinda okay with not seeing it for as long as I'm alive."
Rye shivered, doing her best not to picture Hank grabbing someone's face and- Alright nope, fuck that. Never thinking about that again. "A-anyway, what even happened with you guys? Sounds like the Agency just kinda jumped you outta nowhere."
"Yeah, that's basically what happened. One minute we were just heading over to the bar, next thing I know we're running through buildings to make sure we're not getting overwhelmed. But enough about all that shit, I want details on how you and Hank are doing."
Rye let out a nervous laugh, quickly taking a sip of her drink to buy a few seconds of time to organize her thoughts. "Oh, well, y'know. It's going as well as I could hope. Actually, kinda better than I thought it would go. He's letting use his bed, and he's not constantly telling me not to touch anything. Yesterday we had a pretty alright breakfast. The only real thing that I'd complain about is how empty everything is."
"Maybe you two can go out and find some decorations for his place. Get some posters, maybe a plant or two, spruce the place up."
"Mm, I was thinking about it, but I'm not exactly sure how to ask him. I mean, do I just go up to him and say 'Hey I noticed your place looks abandoned let's go do some shopping to make it not look like shit'?"
"Eh, I'm sure it'll go a lot smoother than you think it will. I mean, he's letting you stay at his place for however long. The worst case scenario is that he tells you his place looks fine. Or he throws you out. One of the two."
"Thanks for the confidence boost Sanford..." Rolling her eyes, Rye stood up from her seat and stretched a bit. "Alright. Time to get back to work. I'm guessing you want the buffalo wings extra spicy?"
Sanford grinned. "C'mon, I get other food whenever I'm here. Like, I dunno, a burger or something. But yeah gimme those wings."
Rye rolled her eyes with a smile on her face. "Got it. Hey, thanks for coming in and talking. Been a slow day and the boredom was killing me." With renewed energy, the bartender got to work.
At least she would have if Hank didn't barge into the bar, ignoring the greetings from both Sanford and Rye, reach under the counter for a glass, and start pouring in around five different hard liquors. Downing the entire glass in a single gulp, the man slammed his fist against the counter a few times, before he slowly relaxed. Letting out a sigh, Hank glanced to his bewildered friends. "Well, it's definitely been a day."