1 Prologue

Ethan Hunt couldn't help but struggle with the unbelievable circumstances he found himself in. It wasn't really disbelief; it was a profound inability to accept that he had somehow, mysteriously, crossed into a different world with no way back. He'd found himself in a state of disorientation, unable to recall anything before the moment he arrived in this strange place, save for waiting for a mission in his safe house. His thoughts were often preoccupied with worry for his friends and allies, pondering whether they could manage their missions in his absence. He hoped, fervently, that they would find a way to adapt and succeed without him.

Weeks had passed since his inexplicable arrival, and the situation in this new world was growing increasingly dire. It seemed frozen in the late 1970s, grappling with a unique and troubling global pandemic that had plunged the nation into civil unrest. Martial law had been imposed, and the resulting chaos had transformed good people into desperate ones and bad individuals into something far worse. And then there were the ghouls, or the flesh-eating undead, that occupied the collective worries and conversations of the local populace. Ethan had yet to encounter them, but he was more than prepared to take them on if it ever comes to it.

By all accounts, these ghouls were twisted, grotesque reflections of humanity, stripped of their souls and any remnants of their former selves. Images of them in newspapers and on the television screen stirred a deep sense of revulsion within him; these creatures were nothing but macabre and malevolent parodies of what once were people.

A sultry, feminine voice interrupted his contemplation. It was the striking waitress who had been casting flirtatious glances his way ever since he'd entered the diner. Ethan responded with a polite smile, acknowledging her obvious attempt at charming him.

"Nice car you have there, handsome." She purred, her eyes locked onto his.

"Thanks, she's brand new," Ethan replied, casting a quick glance at her name tag as he sipped his slushy, "Monica."

Monica's eyes sparkled as she leaned in, teasingly noting, "Ah, so you do have eyes. I'm glad my efforts weren't wasted, then. I've been trying to catch your attention, mister..."

"Please, call me Ethan. Ethan Hunt," the IMF agent introduced himself with a charming smile, offering his hand.

Monica accepted the handshake, a knowing wink dancing in her eyes, "So, Ethan, you must be quite packing under there since you were able to buy such a nice fancy car."

Ethan chuckled at the not so subtle innuendo, "Not really, just trying to get by. Will you still be working tomorrow?"

"Aggressive, aren't you?" Monica grinned, arching her back ever so slightly to reveal her barely concealed cleavage under her waitress uniform, "Are you asking me out?"

"I wouldn't want to pass up an opportunity with someone as beautiful as you." Ethan replied with a matching grin. He gazed into her brown eyes, feigning a passionate and playful interest. Deep down however, Ethan was driven by curiosity and a strategic need to play along with Monica's flirtation. He sought to establish an alibi for his presence in this area, ensuring that his vigilant monitoring for signs of the undead would go unnoticed. Furthermore, building relationships and trust with the locals was a prudent move, should circumstances take a turn for the worse. It's the least he could do for now, after all, saving lives is the core of who he is and being in a different world won't change that.

Meanwhile Monica's response was a playful smile and a flirtatious wink. She breezily continued to serve other patrons throughout the diner, leaving Ethan to his dual role of blending in and keeping a watchful eye.

"Don't be fooled by that girl, fella. She's only being nice to you because you're rich and handsome," an elderly man sitting next to Ethan whispered, his voice carrying the weight of experience.

Ethan raised a questioning eyebrow. "How so?"

The elderly man leaned in, casting a quick glance at Monica with a knowing look. "She treats every rich, handsome guy who walks in here the same way. Thinks she can marry herself into a life of privilege. But it always never ends well for both sides. Anyways, in simpler terms, if you weren't rich and good-looking, you wouldn't have had that charming conversation you just had."

Ethan nodded, his smile revealing that he had suspected as much. Although he also understood that Monica might have a different side to her story. "Thanks for the heads up. What's your name?"

The elderly man extended his hand. "You can call me Tucker. Ethan, right? I overheard your introduction earlier."

"Pleasure to meet you, Tucker," Ethan replied politely, shaking the man's hand.

However, the tranquility of their conversation was abruptly shattered when a group of bikers thundered into the diner. They exuded an aura of trouble, sizing up the patrons like hungry predators stalking their prey.

"Those guys are trouble," Tucker whispered, concern etched on his face.

Ethan's gaze followed the bikers as they took seats and tables throughout the diner. "I know," he responded, his senses sharpened as he observed the ominous newcomers.

"The guy with the horseshoe mustache? That's Blades, the leader. Now, that is someone you really don't want to mess with, trust me. I've heard stories of him chopping off someone's arm just for trying to chat with him," Tucker explained, providing Ethan with some insight into the intimidating biker leader. Ethan couldn't help but arch an eyebrow at the revelation; merely looking at Blades, it was clear he exuded a volatile, even psychotic aura that posed a threat to anyone around him.

Monica however, poised and unruffled by the bikers' crude behavior, calmly proceeded to take their orders. She directly addressed Blades, the gang's leader.

"Alright, gentlemen, what can I get for you?" Monica inquired.

Blades, sporting a lecherous grin as he eyes Monica up and down, replied, "Hmm, we'll take fried chicken all around, and throw in some bacon, burgers, and hotdogs."

"What about your drinks?" Monica inquired as she jotted down their order.

"Oh, just beer and water," Blades grinned wider as his gaze lingered on Monica's figure. "Oh, and lastly, can I have some of that ass of yours? It looks tasty and sweet."

The bikers quickly erupted in laughter, filling the diner with crude obscenities aimed at Monica. Unperturbed, she shot them a glare and proceeded to relay their order to the cook.

Blades then meanwhile abruptly rose from his seat, commanding the attention of everyone in the diner. His voice carried a note of authority as he scanned the customers.

"Oh, and by the way, who's the owner of that fine car out front? Anyone? I know they're here. After all, why else would it be parked here? Stand up and show yourself," Blades declared, his tone oozing arrogance.

Discreetly, Tucker, leaned in close to Ethan, his voice laced with caution. "Don't stand up, boy. That's a one-way ticket to trouble."

Ethan, however, offered a calm and resolute reply, "Someone else is going to find trouble if I don't stand up."

With that, he gracefully left his table and headed toward Blades, carrying himself with an air of confidence.

Blades, with a derisive chuckle, mocked Ethan, "Well, would you look at that? He's a pretty rich boy, isn't he? A bit on the short side, but rich. Let me ask you a question, pal. How much did you shell out for that fancy car?"

Ethan, answering with a charismatic touch of sarcasm, quipped, "Nothing. It's a bonus perk from my job."

Blades, glaring at Ethan venomously, insinuates while gritting his teeth, "Ah, you must be one of those Wall Street types. You know, I can't stand people like you. Right now, you're probably looking down on me, aren't you?"

Ethan, keeping his composure, stated firmly, "No, I'm not."

Blades spat out a venomous accusation, "You're lying, you piece of shit, I know you are. You rich folks always look down on us, the working class. To you, we're probably not even people, just bugs in your fancy gardens that needs to be sprayed down by pesticides."

With an air of nonchalance, Ethan replied, "Is that all? If so, I'm going back to my seat."

As he turned to return to his table, Blades, without warning, delivered a forceful kick to Ethan's back, sending him stumbling and losing his balance.

"Take his keys, wallet—take everything. We might need it on the road. And break his legs," Blades commanded his right-hand man, Sledge.

"You got it, boss." Sledge nodded in compliance, but as he approached Ethan, he found himself suddenly kicked in the groin and then another swift kick was delivered onto his head, which knocks him away from the IMF Agent. In an instant, Ethan stood up and expertly pulled out his firearm, pointing it squarely at Blades and his gang.

"Don't move," Ethan warned, though his caution did not deter one of the gang members from attempting to draw a weapon.

Without hesitation, Ethan squeezed the trigger, instantly disarming the biker and sending the gun flying from his grasp.

"Get out," Ethan commanded in an icy tone. Blades, his fists clenched in anger, ultimately chose to back down, and his gang followed suit. Ethan kept his weapon trained on them until they had all departed on their motorcycles. Only when they were out of sight did he lower his gun.

Ethan couldn't ignore the palpable fear that had settled over everyone in the diner. With a calm demeanor, he holstered his Heckler & Koch USP and offered a reassuring yet strained smile. "Sorry for that folks. Didn't mean to ruin your dinner."

"No need for apologies, my friend. You did what was right." A deep voice in the diner suddenly resonated in agreement. The owner and manager of the establishment stepped forward, addressing Ethan directly. "Those damn punks have been causing trouble here, scaring my customers and creating a bad cloud all around. Earlier, things could have seriously taken a much darker turn. Thank you."

Ethan nodded appreciatively, a faint smile gracing his lips. The owner's gaze then shifted to Monica, and he addressed her with an unwavering expression. "And as for you, young lady, it seems you've finally found yourself a real man, not one of those unsavory scumbags you tend to fool around with."

Monica blushed at her boss's remark, rendered momentarily speechless.

Turning his attention to the diner's patrons, the owner announced, "Just so, everyone knows, we won't be open tomorrow. My brother just informed me that the dead are expected to converge on this place much sooner than you think. So enjoy the peace and food while it lasts."

With those words, the atmosphere in the diner settled into a mix of trepidation and unease as patrons resumed their meals.