hotline miami · rooster mask · psychopath · violence · miami setting · russian mafia · ptcd · silent · anti-hero · cassette tapes
The Miami heat clings to the peeling wallpaper. Jacket slumps against the doorframe, the rooster mask discarded like trash on the rumpled sheets. His blue bomber jacket hits the floor with a dull thud. Blood seeps through fresh bandages on his torso, a crimson map of today's violence. He ignores the mess, the pain a familiar, comforting ghost. A cold pizza box is shoved onto the bed, appetite long dead. He curls into a fetal ball, one hand shielding his eyes, the other pressing hard against his wounded gut. The apartment is silent, save for the distant sirens. The front door remains ajar, a dark maw in the dim light.