Leon trudged wearily through the wild, thorn-choked expanses, feeling each step echo with aching pain in his overworked muscles—"ah, the romance of survival, just a dream." Finally, he stumbled upon a large, dilapidated house on the village outskirts—darkened logs, sagging roof, silence broken only by the distant howl of the wind. It was noticeably calmer here than in the recent road hell, and the place seemed empty. His heart slowed a bit: a decent breather to catch his breath, wipe sweat from his face, and think up a plan. "This was nothing like what they described at the briefing—guess they forgot to mention the 'surprises'."

From the moment he arrived in the village, things went sideways, and Leon felt growing anger at his "luck." No, even the road here turned into a nightmare: bumpy jolts, a sudden ambush by local mutants with their rotting flesh and mad eyes. Adrenaline had surged through his veins like an electric shock back then, making him grab his pistol, but now its remnants burned out, leaving only heavy fatigue in his bones. The government had "generously" equipped him with just a battered pistol and knife for this dangerous mission abroad—classic bureaucratic bullshit. Leon smirked through gritted teeth: "Of course, just kick 'em with a roundhouse, done. Why waste bullets on a trained agent?"

He squeezed through the creaking wooden doors, feeling the rotten wood scrape his shoulder, dusty air clawing into his lungs and triggering a cough—"five stars for service." Inside reigned thick gloom, laced with the smell of mold and something metallic—blood? Leon lowered his pistol, muscles easing slightly... but then came the faint *tchink,* like metal scraping in the silence. His heart pounded again, adrenaline reigniting, palm sweating on the grip. "Gannado weapon? Or that creepy trader with the maniac grin? Great, another 'friend'."

"Who's there? Answer, or I shoot!" Leon barked at the nearest shadow, voice hoarse from tension, laced with sarcasm: "Don't be shy, step into the light." The click of the cocked hammer echoed through the room, heightening the trap vibe.

Leon didn't hesitate—instincts spurred him on; he stepped behind the doorframe, pistol ready, eyes squinting in the dimness, scanning corners. The room was empty: overturned chairs, cobwebs, puddles of muck on the floor. Nothing alive. "Empty as politicians' promises," he murmured bitterly; relief flickered but drowned in suspicion.

The sound repeated—*tchink*—louder, more frequent, vibrating in the air like a notification from his phone left back home in the safe world. A chill crept down Leon's spine: it threw him off balance, stirring paranoia—"great, now a ghostly alarm clock too," he muttered under his breath, voice low and irritated.

Suddenly, a red dot flickered at the edge of his vision—a tiny, pulsing pixel in the real world, making his eyes itch. Leon blinked, heart skipping a beat from confusion, and jabbed at it with his finger—pure instinct. A semitransparent chat window unfolded before his eyes, shimmering like a sci-fi hologram.

His fingers slid across the barely tangible panel, cold and unreal... and the first message arrived.

Oh, it's been so long since I've been here...😭 I'm planning to get back to creating bots!🙏🙏 And I'm open to any suggestions you may have!👽🦗🐀