Others Like Me - Hotline Miami Fanfiction

Chapter 4

The next day went by in a blur for Mark. His mood swung from high to low at random bursts. At one point he found himself hyperventilating over the dingy sink of the gun store bathroom and an hour later he gave away a .308 hunting rifle to a father and son, purely on a whim. It was hard to care about turning a profit, or making sure the books were balanced. It was hard to care about anything anymore.

Mark closed early and took the phone off the line to prepare for tonight. He checked the thirty round magazines of his 9mm sub machine guns, and the two spare magazines he had for each gun. He loaded and unloaded the hand gun rounds into the magazines, more out of compulsion then any logical purpose, anything to keep his mind in the here and now. He had made up his mind last night, he wouldnt let fear rob him of his decision.

He gave a sideways glance at the backpack where he kept his rubber mask as his fingers worked dexterously. While he longed to put his old face back on, to become the inner animal lurking inside the fat pussy he was on the surface, he couldnt help but feel a wave of dread just at the sight of it. The next time he put on that mask, would be the last time. It would be one of the last things he would ever do. His fingers slipped, and the 9mm round slid from the spring loaded magazine and bounced onto the ground. "Get a hold of yourself Mark." He said to himself. "Not like you had a whole lot to lose, anyway..."

Mark looked up at the clock on the wall. It wasnt even four, and he was already losing his mind. He cursed under his breath and tapped his fingers against the glass counter anxiously. He was starting to wish he hadnt closed early for the night. At least the customers would have given him something to preoccupy his mind. More importantly, it would stop his imagination from predicting what his mangled corpse would look like.

He looked at the phone next to the cash register. A picture of his unit, the Ghost Wolves, all lined up, side by side, in rows, was taped to his side of the counter. He smiled gently at the still image, at Corey and him standing side by side. Corey had a small open mouth smile that almost hid the deep seated sadness that always seemed to be dwelling behind her eyes. He stood by her side, hand clamped gregariously on her shoulder, squeezing her against himself with a big jolly smile across his face. He was proud of himself, he was afraid, he was anxious of what the commies would throw at them, but he was confident. He had a mission, a purpose. He missed that feeling. He had been going through the motions ever since without drive, without purpose.

He ran his finger over Corey's image longingly. "Well, better late then never..." Mark grumbled to himself bitterly as he picked up the phone. He dialed Corey's number quickly and waited with the phone to his ear. His heart sped up rapidly in his chest, anxiety turning his blood into acid. The phone rang, and rang, and rang.

"Hey Its Corey." Her automated voice said followed by a beep of the answering machine. Mark said nothing. He waited for a brief moment as he thought of something to say, before hanging up. "What is there to say?" Mark thought grimly. "Hey, you wont get this in time, but Ill probably be dead when you do, yours truly, Mark..." Mark chuckled darkly at himself, before pushing the phone away in disgust.

Mark checked the clock again. It was thirteen past six, he would have be on his way home by now, if the Russians had their way. A serene calm fell over him as he sat at the counter silently. Already his body and mind were slowly accepting his disturbing reality. A knock on the door awoke him from his quite reflection. He strained his vision to see who the hell couldnt read the CLOSED sign at the front.

A small, chrome-dome headed figure was peering through the glass with a hand over his brow like a visor. It was Ash. "What the hell is Ash doing here?" Mark mumbled to himself. He was dumbfounded. Of all the times to pop in unannounced to catch up, he chose now? He knew Ash back from the war, but he wouldnt necessarily consider him a friend. He would pick up the phone if he knew he was calling, but he wouldnt go out of his way to help the man move a couch either.