David headed to his neighbor's house, recalling the man’s personality. Uncle Dave was a classic cowboy—a man in his fifties with a love for barbecue and, as mentioned earlier, a bit obsessed with weapons. Oh, and the hat—he always wore a classic cowboy hat.

  Upon reaching the door, David first checked under the doormat, but there was no key. Sighing, he muttered, “Sorry, Uncle Dave,” grabbed a nearby rock, and smashed the window. Carefully climbing inside, he found himself in the kitchen.

  In the dim light, he immediately noticed a pile of clothes, and on top—a familiar cowboy hat. For a moment, a sharp realization pierced him. The world he had known was gone, along with the people in it. David clenched his fists, pushing back the rising emotions, and refocused on his task.

  He began searching for weapons. After checking a few rooms, he entered the bedroom. It was exactly as he’d expected—complete with a giant Texas flag hanging above the bed. But David's attention was instantly drawn to the bed itself. Something about its frame seemed off—too bulky, even for a king-size. Kneeling, he ran his fingers along the wood, searching for anything unusual.

  He felt an odd seam, and when he pressed it, a hidden compartment slid out from the bed.

  “Bingo!” Inside were several neatly arranged items—a revolver, a hunting rifle, a sawed-off shotgun, and boxes of ammunition.

  He quickly packed all the gear into a nearby duffel bag, inspecting each weapon as he did. When he held the shotgun, he couldn't help but remember a legendary game where you used a similar weapon to kill demons. Smiling at the thought, he headed for the exit.

  Just as he opened the door, a demonic dog leapt from the shadows of the bushes near the entrance. Instinct took over—he raised the shotgun and fired. The loud blast shook the room, and a ringing filled his ears. As the noise faded, David looked at the shotgun and muttered with a smirk:

  “Now that’s a weapon... Good thing Dave kept it loaded.”

  David evaluated his house. It was a typical countryside home with a roof that, while not flat, could be used as a makeshift observation platform. Planning his next steps, he got to work.

  First, he climbed onto the roof through a ventilation window. Using materials he'd gathered from the hardware store, he built a small platform—sturdy enough to support his weight and provide a good view of the surrounding area. From there, he could monitor the territory and shoot if needed.

  Next, he fortified the house itself. He barricaded the ground floor windows with sturdy plywood and metal sheets. The doors were reinforced with extra locks and braced with similar materials. Along the perimeter, he built improvised barricades from furniture and anything else he could find, creating obstacles for potential threats.

  After several hours of hard work, his home began to resemble a small fortress. It was a temporary solution, but he felt slightly more secure. Still, David knew—the night would reveal just how effective his preparations really were.

  David awoke to dull thuds and scraping sounds outside. Something—or someone—was trying to break in. He jumped to his feet, grabbed the hunting rifle, and rushed to the roof through the window.

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  It was dawn. Below, he saw five demonic dogs scratching at the walls, trying to get inside. David took aim and fired. The first dog fell, but the others immediately raised their heads and growled. He didn’t hesitate, calmly shooting them one by one. The last one dropped after a clean shot to the head.

  His heart was pounding, but the house was safe. Scanning the surroundings, he decided it was time to search for more weapons and supplies. But just as he was about to climb down, more figures appeared on the horizon. More dogs—and this time, there were even more of them.

  David clenched his teeth. Climbing down was no longer an option—he would have to stay on the roof and prepare for another wave.

  David lost track of time. Days and nights blurred together. The dogs came more often, but he kept fighting—shooting from the roof and reinforcing the barricades. But his strength was fading, and he was running low on ammo. He knew he couldn’t hold out much longer.

  Then, one nearly sleepless night, something new arrived—a huge dog, different from the rest. With terrifying strength, it crashed into the barricades and broke through the house’s defenses. Only the furniture and the fact that he hadn’t yet fallen asleep saved him from immediate death. He raised the shotgun and, without aiming, fired both barrels into the beast. The monster gurgled and collapsed, leaving a gaping hole in the house.

  Sleep became impossible. Supplies were almost gone—just a few bullets left in the revolver. One thing was clear—the monsters were becoming more relentless, attacking in larger numbers each time.

  After fending off another wave of dogs, David realized he had only one cartridge of ammo left. The pause was brief. He knew he wouldn’t survive the next wave. With no other choice, he rushed to his car—if he couldn’t find supplies, the end would be quick.

  But he didn’t make it. Something huge, dark, and fast caught up to him, knocking him down the moment he stepped outside. A sharp pain tore through his body—the creature clamped its jaws around his legs. David screamed but didn’t let the pain take over. With the last of his strength, he raised the revolver and emptied the cylinder into the beast.

  “Your level has increased to 1.”

  The monster dropped dead, and with the level-up, David felt something shift inside him. But he could no longer move. Cold crept in, and his vision blurred. Just before blacking out, another message appeared before his eyes:

  “You have been recognized as a qualified candidate. Activating associated privileges.”

  He wanted to laugh, but he had no strength left. Everything went dark.

  Interlude 1

  Dave was breathing heavily, holding his old Winchester—his loyal companion since his youth. Damn beasts. There were more and more of them. He cursed under his breath, wiped sweat from his wrinkled forehead, and reloaded the rifle.

  “Goddamn hellhounds! Come on, you bastards! I’ll show you how Texas welcomes uninvited guests!” he shouted, raising the rifle and firing at the nearest beast. The bullet hit the monster square in the skull, and it dropped.

  Ammo was running out. He knew he couldn’t hold out much longer. The barricades were starting to fall apart, and he didn’t have the strength to run. Age was catching up to him, and even his cowboy stubbornness couldn’t stop it. Dave heard claws scraping the barricades and the monsters’ breath.

  “Damn... should’ve drunk less whiskey and done more jogging,” he chuckled, checking the shotgun. Only two shells left. “Well, all right. What do they say? Better to die on your feet than live on your knees.”

  When the beasts finally broke in, he fired the last two shots, killing one more monster. But then a searing pain hit his side—one of the dogs had sunk its filthy fangs into him. He screamed, tried to draw his revolver, but his fingers wouldn’t cooperate. His body weakened, and the world swam before his eyes.

  Then a message flashed before him:

  “You were not recognized as a qualified candidate. Transferring to stasis.”

  “What the...” he whispered before consciousness slipped into the void.