Bizarre Death Funk
Chapter 1: Metro
Author's Note: This is the soundtrack for this chapter in the game, watch?v=RIYLcKZroIQ
I advise that you play it while reading the fanfiction for a better experience(especially during the action parts).
April 3rd, 1989
Miami - Florida
A sickeningly strong light made it's way through the windows of a certain trashy apartment that belonged to a certain, tall, brown-haired, green-eyed male. Hoover, Bertholdt Hoover. After the light had annoyed his eyes for enough, and the prospect of sleeping more was drifting away by the second he decided to finally get up.
He felt that today would be a normal day, nothing unusual or extraordinary could occur to him ever since "that".
Regardless, he started his daily routine by dressing up in his favourite Letterman jacket with it's signature B, a pair of somewhat comfortable jeans and a pair of sneakers that had served him well. The thought of breakfast was displeasing to Bertholdt, him having just woken up and not being sure of the time, seeing as his apartment lacked a clock.
"Another day, another problem with this crappy TV. God, I wish I could just throw this piece of shit out of a window!" Bertholdt shouted as his cheap, out of date TV failed to start.
As the eerie silence set in, he heard an odd and rare sound in his apartment; His answering machine.
He got up, a raised eyebrow present on his face as he approached it and pressed the "PLAY" button and was greeted by:
"Hi this is 'Tim' at the bakery. The cookies that you ordered should be delivered by now... A list of ingredients has been included as well... Make sure that you read them carefully!*Click*"
"What the..." - Bertholdt started as he looked out the window to see a small package outside. He went outside, and opened the package to find a rubber mask of a yellow Tiger with stripes on it's cheeks and plastic white teeth attached to it.
Along with it, there was a note, detailing:
"The Target is a briefcase. Discretion is of essence. Leave Target at point F - 32, inside the dumpster. Failure is not an option. We'll be watching you. Brickell Metro Station is your destination."
He could not just ignore this, Bertholdt had to find out what this all meant. He felt somewhat of a joy, a sort of life breathed into him that he had not felt in years of this apathetic living he had forced upon himself. He took his Walkman DD-9 along with him, locked out his door and went inside his car; An old, beaten-up Mercedes that looked like it would die at any moment. A "gift" for his graduation, if he could call it that...
The drive to the cited location was quite... Uneventful. Nothing except a few minutes of smoking, a bad habit picked up from his older days and trying to stay aware of his surroundings; A basic of every driver. Bert opened the window and threw out the cigarette as he approached the place...
It was desolate, to say the least... Not that it was a surprise, the Brickell had been a cornucopia for organized crime, drug-dealing and violence ever since he had been able to remember. He'd have to be stupid not to know that.
He walked towards the door with the mask on one hand and the other hand in his pocket, and as he arrived to it he started to act more cautious... He leaned against the wall left of the door and put his ear next to it only to hear a very familiar phrase in a very familiar language; Russian.
"Požalujsta, zatknis"
It was Russian for "please, shut up", but it was the first word that started a chain reaction inside Bertholdt. His eyes widened, whatever he was going to say got stuck and died in his throat and the hairs on the back of his neck stood up. Everything started moving to him until it all went dark...
The darkness was almost comforting, a sort of state of non-existence that brought no pain or confusion. Alas, it had to end, and Bertholdt's eyes were opened, his field of vision slightly obstructed by the Tiger mask on his face... He saw a very familiar white-bearded face, dressed quite poorly except for the elegant Veteran's jacket and the lack of the iconic round glasses.
The room he was in was quite out of date, it had mold everywhere and garbage was strewn all across the concrete floor. The lighting was quite poor, with only an old basement lamp illuminating the small area of 6 square meters.
Between him and the Instructor stood two men who were quite well-dressed, tailored white suits and black shirts adorned them along with very classy and cleaned shoes. However, what most stood out from them is the dazed, out-of-reality look they had in their eyes. Probably drugged or mentally broken.
"Go on, Bertholdt... You know what to do."
Without as much as a moment passing, Bertholdt almost leaped at the man on the left, tackling him down and sitting on his chest, a look that was equally that of a calculated killing machine and a bloodlusting maniac; The end was nigh for this degenerate, and that familiar word came out of his mouth.
"Pozalujsta"
As soon as that sound left his mouth Bertholdt's right fist connected with the man's jaw, sending teeth and blood flying a short distance. He reached out with his left hand and grabbed the Ruskie's face with both hands, slamming the back of his head against the cold, hard concrete before delivering the killing blow with his left hand and leaving the man's face a mangled monstrosity, hardly distinguishable from a pile of pulverized meat.
"Excellent performance, you know the next step..." - The bearded old man said, as he wrote down something on a scrap of paper.
Bertholdt rose up, his arms hanging by his side and started moving towards a door on the right almost mechanically as the other Russian supported himself against the wall, hallucinating vividly and trying to regain a grip on reality. Inside the old, murky room there was clean, wooden bat. It's purpose and placement was obvious, and he did not hesitate even a moment to take it into his hands, barging back out with the bat poised and ready to finish the job. Bertholdt slowly approached him, raising the bat above his head before swinging the bat in a diagonal and crushing a part of the man's skull against the wall and then raising it again only to bring it back down in the other direction, sprawling the Ruskie across the floor on his stomach, his head now busted open on both sides. He held the bat down, relaxing his dominant, right hand and approached him from the sides.
His eyes held no mercy, none left for scum like him. He raised the bat and with a conclusive shout slammed it down hard, several times, forever rendering the man's cranial contents to mushy liquid much to the satisfaction of the man watching.
All those memories returned right now, and the mask in his hand now held a much-coveted familiarity. Hell, he even named it; Tony... He grinned, realizing who was inside and thinking that this whole "mysterious phone message" thing wasn't such a bad idea... He raised up to his head, and put it on, feeling the confidence and new-gained strength flowing inside him; A strength he would put into the test today.
The Walkman he had with him served useful, he put in the earphones through his shirt and into his ears, them being hidden by the mask. The music felt numbing, as if that beat was some sort of metronome to this massacre.
He placed himself in front of the door, taking a few steps behind before charging forwards, slamming the door and knocking the Russian gangster on the ground and leaving his weapon, an average steel pipe, on the ground and leaving him defenseless. Bertholdt wasted no time, grabbing the pipe and beating the man to death, slamming the pipe hard enough into the man's cranium to instantly kill him. He breathed heavily through his mask before moving towards the Metro public bathroom, seemingly sensing the location of the next thug.
He shoved through this door too, and rushed the thug who was busy at the urinal, bludgeoning his head into the oval object several times and kicking him once more for a good measure. He left the bathroom, taking the stairs to his left and descending even further into Brickell Metro Station... As he finally reached the end of the stairs, he looked to the right and sensed that there was another person there, the biggest clue being the intoxicating smell of cheap cigarette smoke.
Bertholdt carefully approached this one, a blush on his face from the rush of taking lives and small beads of sweat starting to form on his face that were hidden to the outside world, readying his pipe and this time aiming it at the Ruskie's legs, finally coming out of the corner and horizontally swinging the steel pipe in the direction of his knees, knocking him into the ground. In not even a second of time, he raised the pipe overhead and slammed the pipe into the soon-to-be bloodied mess that was the man's face, a look of absolute terror in his face etched on his face before the pipe made contact.
The next 30 minutes were a blur of synth-pop, brightly coloured suits, make-shift weapons and ultraviolence. But, now none of that mattered, Bertholdt's face was fully flushed and his breathing was as heavy as it had ever been it's entire life. The small corridor was the last segment, and he could physically see what the letter had described, a brown, leather briefcase... The only problem was that it was in the hands of a very nervous man, who was standing behind two other thugs, one armed with a knife and the other with a baseball bat.
Both of them charged at him, with the intent of overpowering the masked maniac by sheer numbers. Using his wits, Bertholdt ran towards them at the same time, swaying to the left and aiming to hit the man armed with the baseball bat first and slam him into the other. The plan worked, as the knife-wielding assailant fell down to the ground, his friend's now-lifeless corpse on top of him. He pleaded for mercy as Bertholdt raised up his foot and prepared to slam it into him, leaving a giant red mark of blood, brains and skull fragments on the already filthy Metro floor.
With them taken care of, he moved towards the trembling man who held the brieface, and reaching out with his left hand he grabbed him by the hair and with a slight grunt slammed the man's forehead against the wall, leaving him to slide for a few inches before instantly battering him with the bat and leaving an utmost disturbing sight for anyone who would see it.
He pried the briefcase from the man's pale, dead hands and hastily made an exist, his bloodlust sated for now and his anxiety of the police finding him kicking in... Bertholdt's car was more comfortable than ever, he quickly went in and decided to take off his mask before flooring it towards the destination.
He parked his car outside the alley, looking towards both sides if anyone had been following him. He then went on, walking for a few minutes before finding the dumpster in question, and unsuspiciously dumping the item inside, unaware of the contents inside.
As he started to walk back towards the car, an utmost horrible sound was made present. The smell was vomit-inducing, and the man who had caused it looked as if he had done just that. He was the same man, light-blond hair, a rugged beard, that ever present calm demeanor cemented by the bum-like clothes which were contrasted by the Veteran's jacket. He approached Bertholdt lazily flailing a wooden bat, threatening him out of some delusion.
"What the HELL are you doing in my alley? Do you want to suffer, boy? Nevermind, I know what scum like you do around here!" He shouted before charging Bertholdt.
Bertholdt did the only thing he knew how to do, and punched the man severely as he charged at him, knocking the bat out of his hand and leaving him incapacitated on the floor. He took a step before realizing what just happened... He couldn't leave him like this! He eyed the baseball but discarded it soon, kneeling on top of the terrified man and placing his hands around the man's throat. And he tightened his grip, he tightened his grip until he could not feel any resistance from the man below. This time... This time it didn't feel right. He felt it as he passed by, and as he almost reached the car he lost his stature and puked out on the pavement, forever staining the scene.
After he had calmed down from the adrenaline(Mostly by shouting inside his car) and sheer joy he felt out of doing something like this, like in the old days, Bertholdt decided to make a small stop on the way, a nice visit to an old friend.
He parked the car in front of the convenience store, knowing the trip would be quick. He went inside the store with a smile on his face as he was greeted with the sight of a well-built man with blonde hair and a permanent, smug look on his face. It was him; Reiner!
He reached out his hand to fistbump Bertholdt, an equally happy face meeting him before starting a conversation:
"Hi there, man! Haven't seen you around."
"You know how I am, Reiner... I don't go out much."
"Though something might have happened to you. You seemed really down after losing your girlfriend. Don't remember seeing you after that..."
Bertholdt chose not to comment on that, hoping Reiner would move on with the conversation, compensating for Bertholdt's lack of social skills.
"...Maybe we should talk about something else... So, out for a midnight snack, huh?"
"Yeah, I got a sort of craving for some beef jerky right now."
"Oh, don't worry about it, it's on the house..."- Reiner reached out and grabbed Bertholdt's wrist, stopping him from pulling out his wallet.
"Uh... Thanks."
"It's good to see you, Bert. Have a nice night!"
"It's good to see you too... It's been a long time."
And with that, Bertholdt walked out, a bag of beef jerky in his hands and his car keys in the other. He drives home, awaiting to see what will happen tomorrow, and if he'll have the same source of fun he had today, a sadistic grin present on his otherwise calm face...
End of Chapter 1
Author's Notes: Okay, you must all be confused by now(unless you played the games) and must have a lot of questions. Trust me, things will make much more sense as the story progresses and you'll understand events and character's much more thoroughly. Feel free to leave questions, constructive criticism, advice or whatever you feel like here, I really appreciate it.
See ya!