The girl in the zebra mask crept up the stairs, shotgun in hand. Her sneakers, covered in blood despite her best efforts, left a macabre trail behind her.
1991 Miami was your archetypical hive of scum and villainy. The destruction of much of the Russian Mafia two years prior did little to stop crime-it only decentralized it. People lived in fear, and the police were overwhelmed.
And in places the police could not or would not reach, it was up to heroes to protect the law-abiding citizens of Miami and destroy the diseased underbelly of the Vice City.
Heroes like her.
At least, that was what she liked to think.
Reaching the top of the stairs, she quickly surveyed the area. A gangster was smoking with his back to her, an Uzi tucked haphazardly underneath his belt, oblivious to the bloodbath that had happened downstairs.
Peering down the corridor, she could see at least two of his friends, both carrying guns. Surely there were even more hoodlums out of view in the side rooms.
The shotgun would attract far too much attention, she thought. He has his back to me. Perhaps a well-placed throw would stun him long enough for me to take him out qui-
*BANG*
The next thing she knew, the gangster had been thrown against the wall by the sheer force of a shotgun blast, his blood coating the wall as he collapsed into a crumpled heap amongst a pile of cigarette butts.
She didn't realize what had happened until she felt her trigger finger relax.
And now they were coming for her.
Panicking, she let her instincts take over, firing at the entrance to the stairwell and racking the pump with all the speed her arms could muster.
*BANG* One down!
*BANG* Two down!
*BANG* Three-
Before she could finish her frantic thoughts, one gangster was standing in the entrance, his own shotgun levelled at her. She chambered a fresh shell as fast as she could, but it was too late.
The buckshot tore through her chest, knocking her to the ground. A spike of agonizing pain was all that she could feel before the life faded from her eyes.
The girl in the zebra mask crept up the stairs-
Wait. I'm back here again?
She stopped and gave herself a quick once-over. All parts intact. Shotgun fully loaded. Sneakers coated in blood in the exact same way.
The only difference was a slight tingling pain in the places where she had been shot, and even that faded quickly.
Perhaps it was a hallucination?
As she continued up the stairs, she made a mental note to never let Alex offer her weed before a job again.
Rounding the corner, she barely had time to register the presence of the smoking gangster before something pulled her up the stairs and made her shoot him. Once again, going in louder than she would've preferred. The same band of merry men were drawn to the gunshot, though this time she managed to kill them all before they managed to get any shots off.
She barely had any time to sigh in relief before she found herself carelessly strolling out into the corridor, in plain sight of any punks who would by chance stumble into the room on the opposite side.
What the hell is going on? She wasn't doing this. This was going against everything that she learned during training. Her instincts were screaming at her to find somewhere more secluded.
That never happened. Instead she found herself slowly approaching a doorway, her weapon aimed at a wall. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed someone walking into the corridor and drawing their pistol.
What are you doing? Turn around! Shoot him!
No response from her body. She could only continue facing that wall as her new acquaintance was getting closer and closer to getting a good shot on her. No matter how much she tried, she could not get herself to turn around.
The 9mm round burying itself into her temple was almost a relief.
The-
She didn't even have time to process where she was before she found herself unwillingly sprinting back up the stairs.
She wasn't doing this. She was sure of it now. Either some mysterious force had taken control of her, or she had spontaneously gone mad to the point of being unable to control her own actions.
Her heavy footsteps clattered off the staircase, robbing her of the element of surprise she had the last time. The smoking gangster heard her coming and began taking his Uzi out of his belt.
She reached the top of the stairs, pointed her shotgun at him…and did nothing more.
Come on, shoot! Shoot, goddamn it! Shoot!
Everything slowed to a crawl as her mind raced. The gangster aimed his weapon in an almost dramatic fashion.
She had him dead to rights. She could kill him right now. It wouldn't be the best of ideas, but it was better than the alternative.
And yet, she did nothing.
As she watched his finger squeeze the trigger, she thought that she frankly deserved it. At least the sweet release of death would save her from her friends' ridicule.
But she wasn't even going to get that, was she? Not if the previous few times around were anything to go by.
Her train of thought came to a dead stop as the bullets found their mark.
She could feel her face heating up in rage underneath her mask. How many times had she died? What even was it the last time? A bike lock on a chain? Whatever. She had gone past the point of bothering to remember what killed her.
Whoever was directing her actions, they were making the most idiotic decisions possible. And she had enough of it.
You'd think they'd learn after making the same mistake so! Many! Fucking! Times! Brief memories of being killed by one particular goon over and over again flashed through her mind. Not this fucking dipshit, apparently!
She wanted to wrest herself from whoever was controlling her and call them the biggest fucking imbecile to have ever walked the earth. But she was helpless to do anything, and so she died again.
And again.
And again.
She had no reason to believe that this time around would be any different. The sounds of her feet stomping up the stairs was burned into her brain. Her only hope was that maybe this time she'd die in a manner that was entertaining rather than embarrassing.
Reach the top. Blast the first guy. It was always going in loud.
Everyone and their mother comes running. Sometimes she killed all of them. Most of the time she didn't. This time she did. Good. She was sick of seeing her own blood coat the walls of the stairwell.
Charge the laundry room. This time, she rolled into it, unfortunately not quickly enough to avoid the gunman hiding in the corner of the room. The bullet grazed her arm, tearing a bloody gash in the sleeve of her jacket. Normally she'd be angry, but today this was just one mistake out of probably hundreds. She blew the offending punk's head off and regained her bearings, trying to best to ignore the stinging coming from her fresh wound.
She grimaced. You'd think that you'd get used to the pain after outright dying so many times, she thought. Leaning up against a wall and peeking around the corner, she-
Wait.
She was leaning against cover and looking around carefully.
Like a sane person.
Holy shit.
Another gangster was approaching. Racking her shotgun, she quickly jumped out and fired, mulching his arm before he could react.
Then she went back into the laundry room where it was safe.
No waffling around. No staring at walls for no reason.
No being a goddamn dumbass.
She heard footsteps and shouts, but her mind was racing too fast to comprehend them. Was this it? Had whatever controlling her finally decided to stop being an idiot?
By the time she calmed down, the goons that had come running were dead. For once this controlling force was a benefit.
There was one more, behind a door. The last one. She could almost smell him.
She kicked the door open, aimed her weapon, and fired.
*BANG*
The buckshot ripped into him, sending him flying backwards.
The moment he hit the ground, she felt something leave her body. All her muscles gave out and she collapsed.
It took her a few minutes to come to. Her mask, normally providing confidence, now felt suffocating. She yanked it off and took a moment to enjoy some air that didn't smell like her own breath.
Is it over? I think it's over.
She felt like she had just finished sprinting down a mountain right after climbing up it. Her heart was pounding and her body was drenched in sweat. She took a moment to unzip her jacket.
Ow! Jesus.
She had almost forgotten about her injured arm.
As she got up and surveyed the carnage, her relief started to turn to anger. The people she had just faced were random thugs that were fighting with whatever random armaments they could get their hands on and couldn't make a coordinated plan to save their lives. Utter chump change compared to what she had faced in Hawaii.
And yet she had failed so, so many times.
She wasn't sure what to be mad at. Was there really something controlling her then, turning her into a complete moron? Or was she the complete moron and the force was just something her mind concocted to excuse its own actions?
Whatever it was, it had put her through a night of absolute torture.
And none of her friends would ever believe her.
Seething, the girl in the zebra mask plodded back to the van.
The bear cast a worried gaze at the zebra as she quietly cradled her freshly bandaged arm.
"Uh, Corey, are you okay? You look...riled up."
"Shut it, Mark. I'm not in the mood right now."
"Jesus Christ, Corey, I've had shits that were harder to dispose of than the goons in that building! Are you telling me that you're starting to have trouble with them?"
"Dude, lay off, Tony. It's Halloween. I think we're all entitled to one good scare."
"One good scare? Look at her! She looks like Ash right after he shot his first Ruskie back in Hawaii."
"Hey!"
"Well, he's right Ash. You were wimping out pretty hard after you shot that guy."
"Yeah, because I'm not a fucking psychopath like you."
"Pot, meet ke-"
"SHUT UP!"
The van suddenly swerved as everyone jolted at Corey's uncharacteristic outburst. Once Ash had gotten the vehicle back under control, Mark looked to his side to see Corey burying her face in her hands.
"Corey. Seriously. Are you alright?"
"I-it's nothing. I'm fine."
"Really? That's the first time I've heard you yell in... pretty much ever."
"I'm fine, Mark. Really. Even if I wasn't I'm not sure how to explain it to you."
She watched his eyebrow slowly creep up his face in disbelief. Then he shrugged and slumped back in his seat.
"Eh, if you say you're fine, you're fine I guess. Also it's Halloween! Weird things just happen on Halloween. I'm sure it won't happen again."
"Yeah."
And indeed, none of the Fans ever saw the return of the moronic controlling force ever again after that day.