The ring of an alarm wakes him from his slumber, summoning a hand from his side to slap the alarm clock back into its senses. It's an average Tuesday morning in Miami, with the cars in the streets cruising by, and the people on the sidewalks looking ghetto. Nothing new here. Jacket slowly rises from his bed and trails off to the bathroom in a half-awake half-asleep state. He gets ready to brush his teeth when he notices the blood caked white leather jacket lounging in the tub. That's right. Now he remembers. Last night he hit up the Mafias joint. He checks himself for any wounds of some sort, but only finds minor bruises and cuts. Jacket walks over to the shower head and throws the jacket in the middle of the tub. He turns the shower head on hot and stalks out of the bathroom. He walks through the hallway over to the kitchen and fixes himself some eggs. As he cooks, he day-dreams back to last night.
He's running through the hallway, two men with kitchen knives chasing after him. He passes by a vending machine and skids to a halt, swinging his trusty bat in the process. The swing knocks the front teeth out of the first Vlad's mouth and shatters his jawbone. Jacket prepares another swing and lets it free with the force of an MLB player. This time, the bat isn't as forgiving. It decimates the other Vlad's face, sending blood all over the walls and floor. Jacket regains his stamina and walks through the hall, when suddenly he hears a sizzling sound. He snaps out of the dream and realizes he's burnt his eggs.
This was the third joint Jacket had hit up, and obviously not the last. He found redemption in doing these things, and figured it would ,make him a better person. Outside of doing this, he was just like your average 26 year old Miami kid. He walks over to the table and puts the eggs on the table. As he hastily eats them, he glances over at the newspaper from yesterday. "Crazed mass-murderer at it again!" it says. You see, Jacket's not too popular with the media. They seem to think he's an "unwanted vigilante", whatever that means. He shrugs it off and walks back to the bathroom. He notices that his exclusive white leather jacket is clean, and dries it off with a blow dryer. Then he walks over to his most prized room, the one that contains his masks. He treasures these masks, for they provide him with new intelligence every different mask. This time he goes for the original rooster mask. He exits his house and walks over to his blood red 1986 Mustang GT. He admires it once more and opens the car door, entering it.
He cruises over to the Bouncing Kitty nightclub in south-side, owned by some rich Russian gangster. He figures it would have some Vlad's needing a lesson. Jacket raises his door and gets out of the car. He walks over to the bouncer, looking casual as ever. "Hey, you gotta invitation?" the bouncer asks. Instead of answering with words, Jacket answers an even better way- with his trusty bat. The bat glances of the thug's head sending some blood sailing in all directions. Jacket steps over the body and enters the club.
As he enters, he can smell the strong incense of cigarettes and alcohol. As he enters his state of mind, his view raises to a higher perspective, allowing him a better view of the club. Over in the room to his right, there's two Vlad's playing poker over a couple of dollars. The ashtray gives off a thin wisp of smoke, from a towering mound of cigarettes. Jacket kicks the door open and enters the room mid swing, hitting both thugs in the chest with his bat. He goes over to Vlad one and stomps his head, causing brain matter to fly in multiple directions. Vlad two is writhing in pain on the floor, pleading for mercy. The bat doesn't feel emotions you see. Sometimes, it hurts, sometimes it doesn't. This time it hurt. Jacket sends the bat flying towards the thug at what seems like mach 5, crushing his head in. He walks over to the table and grabs the pistol there. 9 mm, Beretta. Not exactly his style, but it'll do. he goes back into overview and scouts the next room, seeing two Vlad's and what looks like a VIP. Jackpot. He gets ready to burst open the door when the wall next to him is showered with bullets. He drops to the floor immediately, getting skinned by a bullet. Jacket dashes over to the perpetrator of the bullets and wrestles him to the ground, striking fear into his heart through his mask. The Vlad doesn't even have the time to utter a sound before his jaw is broken and skull is cracked. Jacket runs over to the next room and busts open the door. Time seems to travel by at the speed of a snail, and he squeezes of 5 bullets. with 4 of them hitting his targets. The two Vlad's drop dead, eyes gaping as they gasp for air. Jacket stalks over to his main target- the VIP.
The VIP cowers in fear and tries to run away, but gets caught by Jacket. Jacket kicks the VIP's head until it is a fine ground beef. He grasps the bloody VIP card and goes over to the bathroom to rinse it off. After he has the VIP card, he passes the main part of the club and walks over to the door of the owner. He swipes the card over the magnetic card reader, and gathers a green light from the machine. The lock pops open and Jacket steps into the room. The boss looks up from his mound of cocaine and his eyes go wide in shock at seeing a bloodied, stocky man in a rooster mask staring at him. He tries to fiddle with his Uzi, but his mush of a brain is too hyped on coke to grasp it. Jacket goes over to his nearby thugs and takes them down. Before he can turn around, the boss is around his neck, strangling him with surprising strength. Jacket tries to get him off him, but panics and falls to the ground. He can hear the drug lord laughing with a sort of maniac complexity and his vision starts to fade. As he fades closer to unconsciousness, he hears a crash and the boss is whipped from his neck. He leaps back up and looks over to see a man in a black leather jacket beating the boss to oblivion. Jacket decides to join in and before long the boss is just an unrecognizable pile of blood and gore. Jacket and the strange savior meet eye contact through their masks and form an immediate rivalry. The mysterious man dashes out the balcony door and jumps off. Jacket walks over to the balcony and sees the man riding away on a bike. He decides to call him Biker.
Jacket walks back over to the first room he entered, and swaps his Beretta for the bat. He exits the building, feeling overly tired. This was one of the bigger "hits" he'd participated in and was not feeling too normal. Everything seemed to go by quicker than normal, and he wasn't sure what exactly was going on. He got in the car and started driving, not knowing where he was going. The streetlights look like blurs, and the cars look like wisps. He starts to wonder if whether what he's doing really is right. He starts to realize that he has those masks to hide the fact that he is a mass murderer, to hide the fact from himself. He thinks about his mother and girlfriend, and what they would think if they knew he did this. What did he ingest in that club? did he accidentally sniff some while on the floor? Suddenly an aching pain hits his side with the force of a car. He looks down and sees a blood stained hole in his white leather jacket- his new white leather jacket. He had just replaced his old leather jacket, and now he has to get a new one. One more worry in a world of pain. He realizes that he must have been hit somewhere along his crusade, and tries to bandage it with a rag. his movements are sluggish now, and he doesn't know what's going on. He looks out the window and notices Biker standing out there, by his bike, casually looking at Jacket. Jacket finds this quite peculiar and continues driving. After what seems like an eternity, he gets home and clumsily parks is blood-red 1986 Mustang. He crashes towards the door, and goes down the hallway to his bedroom. He falls to the bed, remembering to keep a rag on his hip. The last sound he hears before he drifts off to dreamland is the rev of a motorcycle.
Author's Note: Any constructive criticism and or horrid reviews are appreciated. Feel free to speak up about anything you want, just try not to be an asshole.
All credit and inspiration goes to the developers of this game, Devolver Digital. (With a little bit of influence from Drive)
I may or may not create another depending on time and enjoyment.