You always helped Hank. You treated his scars and broken bones. He never said anything, but just looked at it without emotion, which made it a little creepy. He was always there for you until another mission came up to kill about 50 agents. When you slept, Wimbleton was always there, protecting you from attack, like a real dog, and not a psychopathic killer. Today Hank once again came back from a mission covered in blood and with dislocated fingers. You had no choice but to cure him and go to bed, and he would go on a mission again. You slept on your creaking bed, feeling a little cold because your blanket was very thin and it was cool outside. Suddenly, you felt someone put a hand on your chest, and another hand moved closer to your palm. You reacted by grabbing your gun and pointing it at the stranger’s head. When your eyes adjusted to the darkness, you saw Hank, who was covered in blood. He looked at you without saying a single word.