April 8th, 1989

Miami - Florida

Jacket woke up in his bedroom with the murders he got away with five nights ago still fresh in his mind. He decided not to think about it much, unless he wished to get nightmares of his victims. It would be like a man not returning to his wife and children, rejection and misery and guilt would surely follow. The possibility petrified Jacket to the core, but his sentiment for his victims soon soured as he knew at least half of what the Russian Mob was capable of. He paced into the kitchen and saw that the room was still empty as ever, apart from empty bottles of whiskey he bought five nights ago scattered everywhere. His attention was later directed to pink flyers on his dining table from the patriotic newsletter group he signed up for not too long ago:

"Greetings, compatriot! And thank you for subscribing to our newsletter! We appreciate your interest in our cause. America is a tune, it must be sung together. - 50 Blessings"

He remembered something about these papers the group that sold them, 50 Blessings, were unto something else, something bigger. It sounded crazy, but he felt it was important. He soon headed into the living room, another message, he thought, and guessed correctly as a red light was blinking on the answering machine. He knew what happened the last time he picked up the phone, and prayed the message would not take him to another building stuffed with Russian mobsters. He held his breath and picked up the phone:

"You have one new message at: 7:28 Am." *Beep!* "Hello, it's 'Linda'... I need a babysitter right away. Got a few kids that need to be disciplined here. I'm at East 7th street. Make sure you have a long talk with them, I really need someone to get through to these rascals. And like last time... please be discreet!"

At first, I thought the phone was acting up, now I don't even question it...

This was a puzzle that Jacket had a difficult time solving. The spark was there, he knew something like this would happen, he just didn't recall how or why it happens. After finishing his breakfast, Jacket made his way down the stairs, out through the front yard, and into the DeLorean. Just then, he saw something in the back seat and pulled it out.

Hey, the hell is this?...

The object was, of all things, another rubber animal mask, but not just any animal mask- it resembled a horned owl. It's plastic fur was somehow soft, and the optics of the mask glowed whenever Jacket stared into it directly. He was too creeped out by the mask to question why it was in his car or who left it there. He needed to go to East 7th Street and fast, so he sped off...

FIRST CHAPTER

NO TALK

East 7th Street

Jacket stopped his car near the large house, got out and came to a halt at the front door. He reached into his coat to find two masks: the rooster mask he received five nights ago, and the owl he found earlier. He stared at the owl mask for a while, and tossed the rooster back in the car. The owl mask was in a slight shade between tan and burgundy, a dark black beak and the glowing optics he noticed earlier.

Sure, let's go for it.

He soon donned the owl mask, and stepped inside to be met with a large corridor with many carpets. And for some reason Jacket couldn't explain, his eyesight was improved by the new mask. Thanks to this mask, Jacket could see a little more clearly ahead of him, albeit in a tint of neon yellow. He didn't question this either, and stepped to the left and paced up the stairs that came to a thinner corridor with a tan carpet. He paced up the stairs and saw a strange red marking on the ground next to the doors. It was a circle with three lines beside it going across. Jacket's memories returned again, about buildings like these would be marked by this symbol.

I could've sworn I've seen this somewhere before...

He opened the door, only to be met by a pile of filthy old coats: a black one with a snake, and a diamond-striped white one with a yellow scorpion on the backside. A mobster patrolled the room with a baseball bat. Jacket is in for a shock after seeing him.

Aw shit! This again?!

Jacket quickly knocked him down, and the thug dropped his weapon. The mobster quickly got back up and tightened his grip on his baseball bat. But Jacket threw him to the floor a second time, grabbed the bat and, after three 'strikes', he painted the carpet in a new color called 'Hint of Brain'. Remembering what happened last time, Jacket felt minimal resentment for his victim and stormed the kitchen, and opened the door in front of him, unknowingly knocking down a mobster holding an M16 assault rifle. And Jacket delivered three hits to the face to finish the job, stopped dead in mere seconds before the Bolshevik could awaken and react.

He grabbed the rifle and opened the next door and fired, intentionally missing a few shots, to gain the next mobster's attention. Jacket pulled the trigger and sent several slugs into the commie's throat, sending the mobster to the floor. He shook for a while, flapping his legs before he bled to death.

Jacket picked up the rifle again and strafed to the right where he spotted another mobster with a pipe sitting on a couch. The mobster takes notice of him in mere seconds, before he could react, Jacket pulled the trigger, and several bullets disappeared into the Bolshevik's chest cavity, the criminal's blood mixing with the neon pink lining of the couch.

Jacket headed through the previous rooms where he saw another mobster holding a double barrel shotgun. The gunfire of the rifle had conspicuously drawn his attention, and he soon looked in the kitchen. Jacket fired a few shots, missed a few, but blew the mobster's head clean off. The Russian fell flat on his chest and bled all over the kitchen floor.

Jacket was horrified at first, [along with the] fact that tonight's murders had been quick and brutal. He still shook at the thought, but soon adjusted to it, knowing the horrible things the Russians had done. Sputnik, the arms race, the Missile Crisis. Insulting events such as this gave Jacket second thoughts, but he still had a job to do. Besides, who knew what these little bastards were up to in days like these?

He picked up the shotgun from his new victim and snuck into the next room where he saw a mobster sitting next to a radio, blasting an oddly funky tune reminiscent of a trance. He opened fire on the mobster, severing the his leg, and damaging the radio in the process. What followed was static on the radio, and finally... silence, apart from a low, humming noise penetrating Jacket's ear.

Could it [have been] from the gunfire? He thought[,] not, it had to be something else. It hit hard on him because when he fought, he had little time to be thoughtful and tactical and by the time [the adrenaline] wore off, Jacket realized the chaos and horror he committed.

His shock didn't last, however. He decided that he would think about it later, and headed through the other rooms and back down to the ground floor. He proceeded through the lifeless corridor, and unmasked inside the DeLorean, before looking] to the side, and speeding away into the neon haze of his beloved Miami driveway, the yellow scorpion keychain on his rearview mirror dangling as he rode...

Jacket took a break and stopped near "Slashin' Pizza", a pizza parlor Jacket had a particular interest in. He stepped inside, and saw a man and his boy feasting on pizza before noticing his bespectacled friend again, albeit in a pizza joint uniform, complete with a pizza box next to him. He said:

"Oh? Hi there, welcome! No need to order anything, man! Your pizza's already done..."

Jacket was then handed his pizza, his eyebrow still raised in slight confusion.

"Yeah, I kinda had a feeling you would be here...Well, let's just leave at that, shall we?"

"Sure..." Jacket uttered as he reached for his wallet.

"So- Oh! And there's no need to pay or anything, it's on the house."

He took a sniff, and knew he'd hate for good pizza like this to go to waste. Perhaps it was worth being on the house. He stepped out, and got back inside the DeLorean, retrieving a slice out of the box and taking a bite before hitting the gas pedal and heading home...