APRIL 3RD, 1989

Ugh...

What day is it..?

I rose from my filthy, small bed. Sometimes I wonder how I don't realize how much of a shithole my place is. I take a passing glance at the calendar.

April the 3rd, 1989.

Hmm, a new message on my answering machine...

"Hi, this is Tim at the bakery. The cookies that you ordered should be delivered by now... A list of ingredients are included... Make sure that you read them carefully!"

Click.

Sounds like a misplaced call of some sort...

I step outside my dingy apartment and notice a package on the floor. Odd, I haven't been expecting anything...

A rooster mask? And there's two notes attached.

The first one just says "RICHARD" in scrawly handwriting, and it's attached to the mask. Guess whatever weirdo that sent me this named the damn thing "Richard"...

The other one is next to the mask, and it reads "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."

I did join some strange nationalist group calling themselves "50 Blessings" a little while ago... maybe it's from them?

I look at the map of Miami I have on my table, with a few newspapers and the pamphlet from these weirdos. Point F-32 is the alleyway near Brickell Metro Station. Guess I'm headed there then...

I go outside, step into my DeLorean, and drive off.

...

I'm here.

I decide to put on the mask. Maybe this is what they meant by being discreet?

I walk right into the place.

SHIT, I knocked someone down with the door.

A Russian mobster?

These FUCKS.

I pick up his weapon. A baseball bat. This'll come in handy, I was a baseball star back in my high school days. I still have my old varsity jacket from those days.

I step above the knocked-out mafioso and ki̧̗̞l͎̠͔̣͔̺͟ļ ̸̤h̨̯̫̺͍̘̙̼im̖̦̺̺̀ ̻̣̮͓͓̤͕͡l̰̀i͎̝k̸̲͈͈͈̰̻e͍͓͚̝͜ ̖́t̮̖h͈͉͇̩͔͘e͔ ͚̟̺̬ͅS̫̣̮̞̲̰ ͜C̺̬̻͜ ̡̟̠U̝̳̪̙̱͞ M̱̳̘ ̙͜h͉̮e̡̤̦̟̼̫ ̷̙̘į͕̠͍̥͖̳s͙͍͇̰̱̝͝.

W-what...?

Oh, shit.

I just killed a man...

My first real kill...

I've gotten into several fights before, and served in the military for a few years, but never any kills outside that...

Bloodlust is in the air.

I strangely desire more...

After all, these fucks deserve it for what they've done to Miami, and the rest of America.

I sense another in the bathroom.

I run in and smash the fucker's head with the bat, sending brains everywhere.

I'd hate to be the janitor of this place.

The body unceremoniously lands head (or rather, what's left of his head) first into the urinal. Guess I caught the poor bastard at a bad time.

I move on to the next floor. A Ruskie is patrolling by the stairs, holding a golf club.

Wait for it...

...

...

I run behind him and whack him with the bat.

Daaaamn, I broke the guy's neck?

He flops to the floor and I hope dearly that didn't alert the others.

...

Guess not.

Uh-oh, another one's coming

OHSHITOHSHITDIEDIEDIE

I knock him down with a one-two punch.

Here we go again...

I step over the body and hit him three times with the bat.

It starts with a WHACK, then with a CRUNCH, then a SPLAT.

Eurgh, I sent a few wet bone shards flying.

Shit, two more in the next room.

I quickly duck behind the wall and wait...

I rush in and whack both of them with one swing.

Skulls were cracked, to say the least...

A knife drops to the ground. This will do nicely.

I step over to the entrance of the other room.

The two Russians standing there rush me.

I slice both of them up.

One drops to the ground clutching his throat.

The other one slumps over slowly.

I stabbed him in the gut. Jeez, that's gotta hurt.

I throw the knife at the last guy, holding the mentioned briefcase.

Wham, blade-first.

A strange feeling of dread fills the air.

Did I really just do this?

No matter, time to finish this.

I walk down to the first floor.

Oh no.

THE TRAIN'S ARRIVING.

Oh good, it's just two mobsters.

I whack them both with the briefcase. It only incapacitates them for a bit. No surprise there.

I decide to finish them off by whacking them with it.

Hopefully 50B won't penalize me for getting brains on the goods.

I step into my DMC-12 and drive off to the alleyway.

It looked closer on the map.

I drop the case off in the dumpster.

Suddenly, a distant voice, right around the corner...

"Who's there? I can hear you! I know you're there!"

FUCK.

A hobo with a bat.

Gotta think fast...

I knock him down with a right hook.

I know what I have to do...

I take the bat and kill him.

Can't risk being found out...

Oh god, did I just kill an innocent bystande-

I remove my mask, fall to my knees, and vomit.

I couldn't help it.

I felt terrible.