He woke up thin mattress that smelled of old sweat and regret. His heart hammered like it wanted out of his chest. The memories hit hard: zombies tearing into his legs, demons laughing as they burned the last of his friends, a Demogorgon's tentacles ripping him apart in slow, wet pieces. Year three of the apocalypse. He had died screaming.
He sat up fast. The room was the same cheap apartment he'd lived in for two years. Cracked ceiling. Single bulb flickering. Calendar on the wall showed the date clear: thirty days before the first rift opened.
Thirty days.
He swung his legs off the bed. No weakness in his body yet. No infection. Just a man who remembered everything.
The Absolute Emperor System chose that exact second to speak inside his skull.
Weak host acquired. Dominate or perish.
The words were cold metal. No welcome screen. No gentle tutorial. Just a command.
Richard grinned. Sharp. Hungry.
He stood. Walked to the cracked mirror above the sink. Stared at the twenty-eight-year-old face that had once begged for scraps. Not anymore.
A knock rattled the door. Heavy. Impatient.
Richard grabbed the kitchen knife from the counter. Slipped it into his belt. Opened the door.
Two men. Leather jackets. One held a tire iron. The other smirked like he already owned the place.
"Rent's late, Winthers. Boss says pay up or get out. Today."
Richard stepped forward. No hesitation.
"You picked the wrong morning."
The first man swung the tire iron. Richard ducked low, drove his shoulder into the gut. The man folded with a grunt. Richard followed with an elbow to the jaw. Bone cracked. The tire iron clattered to the floor.
Second man lunged with a switchblade. Richard caught the wrist, twisted hard. The knife dropped. He slammed the man's face into the doorframe. Blood sprayed across the peeling paint.
Both down. Breathing. Not moving much.
Richard looked at the stray dog that had followed them up the stairs. Mangy. Growling low. Eyes locked on him.
He crouched. Met the animal's gaze.
Dominate.
The air thickened. A pressure built behind his eyes. The dog whined, then dropped to its belly. Tail tucked. Submission.
System notification flashed in his vision.
[First minion acquired: Loyal Hound]
[Loyalty Tier: F]
[Command unlocked: Basic]
Richard stood. The dog rose too. Stayed at his heel.
He dragged the two men into the hallway, left them slumped against the wall. Let the landlord find them.
Back inside, he moved fast. Grabbed the duffel bag from under the bed. Stuffed it with every can of food, every bottle of water, the flashlight, the spare batteries, the hammer from the toolbox. He knew what came next. He had lived it.
Outside, the city still pretended normal. Cars honked. People walked. Phones buzzed.
Richard stepped onto the street. The dog followed without a word.
He looked up at the clear blue sky.
Thirty days.
In thirty days the first rift would split the sky above downtown. Zombies would pour out first. Then demons. Then the real nightmares.
But this time Richard Winthers would not be prey.
This time he would be the emperor.
He tightened his grip on the duffel strap and started walking toward the nearest hardware store.
The dog padded silently beside him.
The sky stayed quiet.
For now.