Hotline Miami: Novelization

Chapter 1

    The alarm rang it’s robotic beeping. He woke up in his room. He was in his bed, he wasn’t under the covers and was fully dressed already. He turned in the bed and reached over to the nightstand and clicked the ringing off. He checked the time on the digital clock. 9:00 PM, April 3rd, 1989. He got himself up and sat at the edge of the bed. The television in the room was static. He stood up and walked over to the TV and hit the rewind button on the VHS player that sat on top of the TV. He waited for the tape to rewind. His room was average of a man his age. Large band and movie posters, an NES and game cartridges strewn about the room. Typical, ordinary. Once the tape was fully rewinded, he ejected it. The device spat out a copy of Rambo First Blood. He put the tape back in its rental case with a flashy logo saying “VHS Palace” with the movie title in black at the bottom. His rent on the tape was about to expire, he might as well return it.

    He walked out through kitchen to the living room, tape in hand. Next to the couch lay an end table with a black telephone resting. The machine blinked red, indicating a voicemail. He approached it and picked up the phone, pressing a button on the machine. It beeped and the cassette tape began rolling. The answering machine began speaking, “Hi, this is Tim from the bakery. The cookies that you ordered should be delivered  by now. A list of ingredients are included, make sure you read them carefully!” The phone clicked off. He put it down and walked towards the kitchen. He placed a hand on the door of the apartment and felt the wood. He peered into the peephole of the door. Nothing. He shifted around with the door locks for a bit before opening the door and hitting a light brown box. It was wrapped around with tape, no mailing label. He bent down and picked it up. He shook it and felt something big moving around. It wasn’t that heavy, it felt hollow for the most part. He walked back inside and placed the box on the table. After shutting the door quickly he acquired a pair of scissors. Using one side to slice the tape. In the box was a rooster mask and a note. He grasped the mask and stared into it’s black eyes. Dark, but see through. He set the mask down and read the note. “The target is a briefcase. Discretion is of the essence. Leave target at point F-32, inside the dumpster. Failure is not an option. We’ll be watching you. -50 Blessings” The note also came with a street name. Which led him to a subway station.

He sat in his Delorean, looking down at the rooster mask in his lap. The mask was rather cartoonish, with rubber feathers and the red comb on it’s head flailed around when it was moved. Even the wattles dangled in a silly manner. One deep breath and he put the mask over his head. Richard got up out of the car and slammed the door. With heavy breathing under his mask, he walked up and opened the subway door. He immediately came face to face to a pale white man. He had a broad chest, probably worked out daily. He was dressed in a white suit with a blue dress shirt underneath. His head shined as it was shaved clean. His blue eyes grew black as he turned and faced Richard. “What the fuck?” He grimly mumbled in a blatant Russian accent. The Russian pushed Richard into the wall after he stepped inside. The man pulled a switchblade from his pocket and held it on Richard’s bare neck. “You think you’re fucking funny, kid?” He yelled. “You’ll get your ass killed out here wearing that shit! What do you think you’re doing?” The Russian got no response, other than the breathing behind the mask. The commotion caused another man to step out from a bathroom in the subway.

“Evan, the hell are you doing? The fuck is that?” The new Russian asked.

“I don’t know. This jackass just came right in like he owned the place.”

“Well fuckin’ kill him!”

Richard noticed that the man holding him down had an earring in his ear lobe, pure gold. He had let his guard down since the other walked in. Richard striked. Swiftly he brought his hand up and grasped the man's earring. He tugged hard and the piece of jewelry tore out of his lobe. The Russian yelled as he was yanked to the ground and blood spurted out of his ear. The switchblade was taken into the hands of Richard. Quickly, Richard lunged at the second man and jammed the blade into him three times, letting blood spit onto his jacket, before letting the blade go inside him. The wounded man fell to his knees, then collapsed onto the floor. Richard turned around and stared at the other one. He was holding his ear, obviously in immense pain. Richard stepped towards him, he began to get to get up, but it was futile. Before he knew it Richard was on top of him. He began to curse some Russian as him but the language was interrupted when Richard’s blood soaked fist connected to his face. The clash of knuckle on cheek echoed through the station. Richard then picked his head up and smashed his skull into the tile floors. The man was dead by now but Richard kept smashing it in until the blood in the back of his head flooded onto the floor.