Hotline Miami: Novelization

Prologue

Hot and muggy Miami. This is how it felt every night, but the room was stuffier than usual. Crashes of thunder echoed into the pitch dark room. All he could see was black. He reached a hand into the abyss searching for something tangible. After some shuffling he felt the touch of a door knob. With little hesitation he barged through the door. Light finally reached him, but only neon colors of pink, yellow, and green. A cresless strobe light flashed about, sometimes in second intervals, sometimes longer. A slow bass guitar played long, eerie strums on the record player that lay on the glass coffee tables in front of three recliners. All three seats were occupied.

In one sat the frame of a woman in nothing but a green tank top and pink panties, her head, however, was masked by the head of a horse. The horse was emotionless and fake, made out of rubber. The Horse was locked on him. She spoke with a familiar voice that he could not put a face to. "And who do we have here?" She asked. He looked down at the hardwood floor and watched a cockroach scurry around his shoes. He brought his hands up to his face and twisted his wrists, inspecting his palms, the back of his hands, his fingernails. He was white, he thought, but he looked like an array of colors with the lights in the room. Who was he? He couldn't think of answers, only questions. "Oh you don't know who you are?" The Horse chimed up again. He looked back up to her, confused.

"Maybe we should leave it that way." She added. The man in the middle seat began to speak now. "But I know you." The man was in a maroon varsity jacket and jeans, his head was that of a rooster. The Rooster stood up and spoke more authoritatively. "Look at my face. We've met before, haven't we?" The Rooster was in the same exact outfit as him. The same jacket, jeans, and shoes. The Rooster sat back down and the man in the seat on the right began. He was dressed in a white suit with a blue dress shirt underneath. He was an owl. He began to cower in his recliner and yell, "I don't know you! Why are you here? You're no guest of mine!" The Owl began sobbing as the Horse began speaking, "Do you really want to reveal who you are? Knowing oneself means acknowledging one's actions, and as of lately you've done some terrible things." Everyone spoke so fast it was confusing for him. His mind was almost dead as he stared into the fake eyes of the animals.

"You don't remember me? I'll give you a clue." The Rooster got up again and took a step forward.

"Does April the 3rd mean anything to you? I believe that was the day of our first encounter." His eyes widened.

"You look like you might be remembering something."