In the frigid winter of 1987, Nevada's desolate wilderness bore witness to a night of unparalleled terror. Hank J. Hunter, a man consumed by vengeance and madness, stalked the landscape with a singular purpose: to annihilate his enemies. Clad in a long, weathered coat that concealed an explosive vest and wearing black, round glasses that glinted with malevolence, Hank's presence was an omen of impending doom. His arsenal was a testament to his lethal intent, featuring some of the era's most formidable weapons.

Hank's favorite firearms were the AR-18, a compact and rapid-firing rifle, and the AK-47, celebrated for its reliability and stopping power. Yet, his insatiable bloodlust saw him wielding any weapon within reach. The thunderous blasts of a Remington 870 shotgun echoed through the night, while submachine guns like the Uzi and MAC-10 unleashed torrents of bullets. His sidearms included the iconic Colt M1911 and the versatile Beretta 92FS, and his pockets bristled with grenades, each primed for destruction.

The stage for Hank's most infamous massacre was a sprawling, abandoned military base on the outskirts of Las Vegas. The complex was a labyrinth of decaying barracks and rusting vehicles, perfect for the kind of guerrilla warfare Hank excelled in. It was here that he faced down 511 heavily armed men, a ruthless conglomerate of mercenaries and criminals united under a powerful cartel.

The night was bitterly cold, a chilling wind howling through the deserted base as Hank moved with deadly precision. Silently, he planted explosives at strategic points, his sharp eyes scanning for patrols. The air was thick with tension, the quiet before the storm.

At midnight, Hank detonated the first charge, sending a massive explosion ripping through the central compound. The night sky blazed with fire, and the sound of collapsing buildings and shrapnel filled the air. Amidst the chaos, Hank emerged, his AR-18 blazing as he cut down the first wave of stunned adversaries.

With lethal precision, Hank navigated the battlefield, his coat billowing like a specter of death. The AK-47 roared in his hands, its distinctive staccato echoing through the night as he felled wave after wave of enemies. Each step was a calculated move, each shot a fatal blow. Grenades arced through the air, their explosions merging with the cacophony of battle, while shotgun blasts reverberated through narrow hallways.

The cartel's forces, despite their numbers and firepower, were no match for Hank's relentless assault. His explosive vest remained a constant threat, a grim reminder that he was a man with nothing left to lose. Submachine guns chattered, and pistols barked as he engaged in close-quarters combat, leaving a trail of bodies in his wake.

Hours passed, the battle raging under the cold winter sky. Hank's onslaught was unyielding, his resolve unbreakable. One by one, the mercenaries fell, victims of his unquenchable thirst for vengeance. By the time dawn approached, the once-formidable force lay decimated, 511 men reduced to lifeless forms scattered across the base.

But Hank's war was not yet over. As the first light of dawn broke, he found himself surrounded by the last remnants of the cartel's elite—seven men, heavily armed and battle-hardened, blocking his escape route. Weary but undeterred, Hank knew that this would be his final stand.

With a defiant roar, he emptied the last of his ammunition, every shot a desperate attempt to break through. But the odds were insurmountable, and his enemies pressed in, relentless and unyielding. Cornered and outgunned, Hank's eyes burned with a feral intensity behind his black glasses.

In a final, devastating act of defiance, Hank activated his explosive vest. The ensuing blast was a cataclysmic eruption of fire and shrapnel, obliterating the seven men and bringing an end to his violent crusade. The explosion echoed through the desolate landscape, a fitting conclusion to the night of horror Hank J. Hunter had unleashed.

In the aftermath, the authorities arrived to find the base reduced to ruins, the bodies of 518 men scattered amidst the debris. Hank J. Hunter, the maniac killer of Nevada, had vanished into legend, his final act a testament to his unrelenting vengeance and indomitable will.



/!\ Hank J Hunter still remains alive /!\