Cardin Winchester raised the amber glass bottle to his lips and downed another slug of beer. Aside from the dull blue glow of the television, the dingy apartment was dark. The outlines of various pieces trash from pizza boxes to empty takeout cartons littered the floor. Cardin's eyes were bloodshot, and his once chiseled features had begun to sag with stress and age.
It had been more than a decade since he had gotten expelled from Beacon Academy. As it turned out, bullying was highly discouraged, and after a myriad of reports from numerous students, Cardin was kicked out. He eventually moved to Vacuo to escape the shame that it would bring to his family.
It's not fair, he thought, leaning his head back and letting the last few drops of alcohol drip into his mouth. That Arc brat got to stay, but I get kicked out? He had fake transcripts, I told the headmaster, and all I did was mess with some second year. He snarled and hurled the bottle across the room.
That pathetic animal coulda fought back but she didn't and it's my fault? She had every opportunity to make us leave her alone, she was a second year, no way she should have just let us mess with her! He seethed with perceived injustice as he slid another bottle out of the six pack. And now here I am while frauds and weaklings get showered with praise! I had it all and now instead of getting my rightful position as a huntsman, I'm just some nobody, working a shitty job with NOTHING to my name!
He slammed the bottle onto the table and leaned back into the ragged couch, head in his hands. In an effort to forget, he dozed off into a coma.
The next morning, Cardin was rudely awoken to the answering machine on his phone.
Who the fuck…?
"You have ONE new message!" BEEP
"Hey, this is Tim from the bakery. Those cookies you ordered should be delivered. Make sure you read the ingredients real carefully!" CLICK
Cookies? The hell am I, a child? He stumbled to the door and squinted through the peephole. When he saw no one there, he slid open the bolt and tentatively opened the door. On the doormat was a large, oblong cardboard box with a letter on top.
Puzzled, Cardin picked up the letter.
The target is a briefcase. Discretion is of the essence.
Leave the target at point F-32, inside the dumpster.
Failure is not an option. We'll be watching you.
His blood ran cold as he picked up the cardboard box and hurriedly brought it inside.
Inside the box was a rubber chicken mask and a baseball bat.
Yes, I did just rip off the plot of Hotline Miami.