The smell of hot coffee and the opening theme of my favorite series, _“Mutant Samurai: Dishonored by Blood,”_ woke me up. Since my self-made retirement, most of my days began like this.

Most of my friends were either nuts or some other kind of crazy—like coming back from the war as heroes and marrying their sweethearts.

All I wanted was my salary secured at the end of each month, which I mostly invested in fixed-income assets with the best risk-reward trade-off. I’d tried stocks and other nonsense, but living with daily anxiety, even while working during the war, wasn’t great.

Not that I had a glamorous job anyway—just an IT guy. My work mostly involved “maintenance” on systems, which usually meant minor fixes or dumb tasks like restarting things. If the problem was too complex, I’d use AI, though I’d learned to distinguish its useful answers from the bullshit.

After brushing my teeth, I grabbed my coffee and stepped out of my cabin in the woods—my home.

Pulling out my phone, I tried to check the news. I’d gotten out of WW3, but that didn’t mean I was entirely safe. Most of what I consumed came from a village at the base of the northern mountain.

Weirdly, there was no signal—a rare occurrence, especially since I hadn’t been notified about any outages.

Looking around, the climate also seemed different. I couldn’t put my finger on it, but the normally blue sky had an odd orange tint, even though it was already 10 a.m.

With nothing better to do, I started reading the news.

As always, some websites and social media were full of doom and gloom, while others spewed random drama. Nothing new. But it seemed that since 9 p.m., the news had stopped coming.

If there was ever a time for the network to go down, this was it.

“Whatever, I’ll play something.”

Not that I had much to do here. I’d amassed a hoard of games, mostly offline ones, though some had pesky DRMs. Luckily, most of the ones I cared about didn’t. The rest were money sinks, bloated with random DLCs, often made with AI.

But, whatever. I had decades of games to keep me busy.

Booting up my favorite dragon RPG—CD2, in my humble opinion, the best part of the saga—I lost myself in nostalgia. A few hours in, a strange ticking sound started. It sounded like a bird pecking at the window.

Nothing unusual, but as the pecking continued, I started worrying about my glass.

When I reached the window, I expected to see a bird. Instead, it was a weird, horned creature, its body oozing some strange substance. One thing was certain: this thing wasn’t normal.

I scrambled to find a weapon—a broom or something. The creature looked at me and shattered the glass.

I swung the broom at it, sending it flying into the left wall, breaking my stand and a vase. At least it wasn’t my monitor or PC.

The freaky thing got up. Despite being the size of a steroid-pumped rat, it didn’t die from my attack.

It seemed this asshole wouldn’t go down easy, and I didn’t have time to run to the kitchen.

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Reluctantly, I glanced at my _Mutant Samurai_ katana stand. It wasn’t meant for this, but I didn’t want to get some freaky rabies and die alone in the middle of nowhere. I wanted to die alone in my sleep, not from some mutant rat bite.

I grabbed the blade, removed it from its case, and sliced at the creature. It was less like a samurai’s strike and more like a kid swinging a stick. But if it worked on cockroaches, it might work on this freaky rat.

The hellish rodent oozed away, dodging my blade, which got stuck in the wooden floor.

Fear took over, and I yanked the blade free, dashing to the side. The katana broke, part of it still stuck in the floor, the other half exploding into shards.

Now my katana was more like a jagged dagger. Like any responsible adult in this situation—after years of IT work and a few months as a wannabe soldier—I tried to spear the oozing thing with it.

I was sure I’d miss, but the creature was dumber than I thought. It jumped at me.

It was do or die—or at least get Rabies 2.0. I surged with adrenaline from my mutated adrenal glands and, like some fruit-meat ninja, I stabbed the thing, pinning it to the floor with the jagged blade.

The creature twitched, still showing signs of life.

Like a responsible adult, I tried alternatives. First, bug spray. It didn’t work—the thing just got angrier.

As a last resort, I grabbed some alcohol and set the little monster on fire.

Of course, I had a fire extinguisher ready. I almost missed my chance as the burning ooze from the creature ignited and threatened to burn everything down.

Staring at the charred husk of the creature, I tried to focus on my options. I could call the police about this weird creature. If they couldn’t help, they might at least point me to someone who could.

I pulled out my phone. My worst fear was confirmed: no signal, not even for a call. No way to contact my parents, though they lived in a safer area. No way to let the elderly live here. Honestly, living here was a gamble with my health. The local healthcare was only a step above a morgue. Saving money had its costs.

The second option was to stay put and wait for help, but that didn’t seem like a solid plan. Lastly, I could try to find someone nearby who knew what the hell was going on.

I probably had more choices, but after having my home partially destroyed by one of these little freaks, staying didn’t seem like a good idea.

Who knows? Maybe they’d smell their dead sibling and come looking for revenge.

I could just toss the carcass outside. Honestly, it was all a mess.

“What the hell am I supposed to do now?”

“Go out or stay here? Maybe I’m overreacting, and it’s just a weird creature. Pollution or radiation could’ve made this thing, or maybe it’s from a pharmaceutical lab.”

Maybe I’d just wait it out. Better safe than sorry.

I went to my bedroom and searched under the wardrobe, where a dusty leather box was hidden.

Pulling it out, I couldn’t help but read the message printed in golden letters on the box. My old infantry buddy Carlos had left it for me:

“Here’s my girlfriend I told you about. Have fun.”

Opening it, I was relieved to find no sex doll—just a sleek double-barreled shotgun. On the handle, in golden letters, it read: “Marlene.”

It wasn’t a good idea to go out armed, but neither was dying from an oozing rat.

After loading Marlene, I stuffed the rest of the ammo into a shoulder bag, along with a water bottle.

Just a nice stroll through the mountains—what could possibly go wrong?

As I left my house, I realized a lot could go wrong. First, it seemed a jungle had spawned out of nowhere—bigger and more alien than before, with weird pink reeds that gave off a sickly vibe.

I’d never been on mushrooms, but from what my old war buddies described, this looked like the real deal.

At least the direction of the village seemed normal, the mountain still in place. That made up my mind, and I grabbed one of my backup hard drives and some valuables—expensive food, my micro PC, accessories, and a spare phone.

Now, instead of just a shoulder bag, I was carrying my camping backpack. Not that I ever camped in a tent, but I knew where I lived.

Everything pointed to someone creating some kind of biological weapon. Why they’d do that in my country, which had been a bystander in WW3, was a mystery.

Maybe they didn’t nuke here because of the resources, including biological ones. But if they cared about that, why turn it into some sickly hellscape?

I must’ve been in shock, because what the hell was happening?? Normally, I’d freak out and hide in my bathroom. No use overthinking it.

Let’s see if my village neighbors knew what was going on. Or at least, we could be lost together.

On the way, I didn’t find any other weird animals—just the usual wildcats, snakes, monkeys, and such.

It seemed I was the lucky one to get a freakish skin forest outside my house. Not great for property value, unless that flabby stuff could be used in beauty care.