Chapter Text
The grunt’s body fell over on the hard concrete, blood pooling around the body as a firm boot steps over it. Hank was out for a couple of days doing recon work as usual, though he decided to take his time. The man felt better working alone, as overwhelming as it can get, not having to look out for other people took some stress off his shoulders.
Hank carefully made his way around the building, clearing out some lingering A.T.P engineers and grunts that were in his way. The man almost found working like this therapeutic given how he was constantly hunted down like he was a rabid animal on the loose. Regardless of that, it wasn’t long before the building fell silent, all that remained was bloodied and bruised bodies littering the building floors. Hank was just up and ready to leave but movement out of the corner of his eye caught his attention. His hand instinctively went for the blade holstered at his hip as he scanned the room, narrowing his eyes towards rusted shelves at the back of the room to find Tricky, pathetically trying to hide himself from Hank. They almost found it comedic at how stupid the clown looked, as he goes for the kill Tricky sputters out a quiet ``No``, Hank stops in their tracks as he stares at the clown. They both glare at each other before Tricky finally speaks up, his voice coarse and broken.
“Hank. . . Lets t-aalk. . . please,” The clown struggled to keep his voice steady as he looked at Hank from behind his mask. Hank stared at the twitching clown, dumbfounded.
Talk? Seriously? This has to be a joke.
He thought. Has he lost his mind even more than he could? Is that even possible at this rate? The endless questions filled Hank’s head as he stared at the clown.
Is he seriously considering hearing him out?
Tricky tested the waters by slightly moving from behind the shelves, they both kept their eyes fixated on each other, one preserving his likelihood of living and the other making sure he didn't get backstabbed. Hank already knew well enough that Tricky wouldn’t stoop low enough to get an “easy” hit on him, that wasn’t his concern. His concern - if it could even be called that - was if this was another trick of the clown’s. As ironic as that phrasing is. They soon found each other standing only a couple of feet away from each other. Their heights were distinct. Hank stood tall and firm, while Tricky was slightly hunched over. As a form of civility, the clown tosses his stop sign off to the side. Hank returns the favor by tossing his blade aside.
“Hofnarr. . .” The clown stated, this earned a grunt of confusion from Hank. The clown points at himself and repeats the phrase. “Hof. . .narr. . .” Tricky clearly couldn’t keep his voice balanced enough to a normal speaking level, but at least now Hank knew the man’s real name. Not that he cared, but he knew if anyone did it would be 2B.
Distant voices could be heard which clearly made the clown twitch in anticipation, he scanned the room before ripping a keycard out of his pocket and smacking it to Hank’s chest, making sure the man had a hold on it. “Take. . . it.” Tricky forced out as he pointed out the rear door. “Go. . .”
Hank stood momentarily out of confusion, staring at the green keycard in his hand. He looks at the clown once more as he hesitantly walks out of the building, keeping their eyes fixated on Tricky before leaving. “What… the hell,” Hank mumbles to himself as he fiddles with the keycard. He knows that 2B will do something with this, or at the very least know what to do with it.