As you stand at the bar, polishing the few non-broken glasses that remain, you think to yourself that if you ever see that detective again, you're shoving his fucking badge down his throat. While you know you're in the witness protection program and they sent you to this shitty podunk town in order to keep the mob from axing you to wrap up loose ends, at the same time you're certain that any mobster that would come here to kill you would run away screaming from how fucking boring this place is before they could ever find you.

You are Jack. That's not your name, but now it is because of the witness protection program, and it's been your name for two years now, so you've already gotten used to that being my name, because you don't think you're ever fucking getting out of this town again. In fact, you're pretty sure that detective's fucking forgot about you at this point. Or he's dead. You don't know, and you don't care, really. You're resigned to the fact that you're going to die in this shitty town.

This shitty town is Rockmore, a place in the ass-end of fucking nowhere in Montana. For a moment, you consider how ass-end of fucking nowhere some places can be in, like, Nevada or, I don't know, Vermont. Then, you imagine that, but in fucking Montana, the ass-end of fucking nowhere of states, and despair grips you for a moment. There's about 700 other doomed souls in this place alongside you, and every one of them is depressed, drunk, angry, or a combination of the three. Including yourself.

This town is absolutely dead. If you want something to eat, your options are the Wal-Mart in the center of town, or the shitty dive bar on the outskirts, and that's it. You consider for a bit what a restaurant here would look like, but you stop yourself immediately. This place can't even support a fucking Denny's, let alone anything that belongs in the same sentence as the word "restaurant". Any establishment here would serve misery and despair as free sides with infinite refills. The local high school shut down about a decade ago, from what you are told, and every kid here is homeschooled in "the ways of the town". While you might have at one point thought about just what that entails, you've come to the conclusion that you don't want to know a long time ago.

Instead, the high school building is now home to some gun nuts they call a militia. Then again, in this town, five guys with pistols is a fucking army, so you suppose they can call themselves a militia. The only real opposition would be the cops, which are about five people, but with shotguns instead of pistols. And as is standard with country cops, they have a hardon for fucking with outsiders, except no fucking outsiders ever come to this place, so they've got a whole bunch of pent up energy that's just raring to go.

And that's not all. Oh no, this fucking shithole hit the god damn jackpot when it comes to tensions. It's also got a cult camping out in an old ranch building, a probably corrupt mayor, a power plant that might explode any day now, a serial killer just sitting in a jail cell, and there might be some government plans to fuck with the weather here too. This place is a powder keg waiting to explode. And you're right at the center of this small-town rumor mill, because you're the bartender at the shitty dive bar. Every day of these two years, you've wondered why the fuck that asshole of a detective set you up with this job, because it's miserable. You get to stew in all the misery and drunkenness of this town, every fucking night, serving these fucking dickbags, mopping up the vomit and getting home at 1 AM every night. But you do pick up a lot of rumors, and those rumors tell you that this town is going to go to hell, and you're going with it. It's just a matter of when. These sorts of thoughts keep you company through the night. It is a regular night. Six guys puking, below the monthly average, and only twelve broken glasses. You don't know where the fuck all the replacement glasses come from, but you've stopped questioning shit in this town.

Soon enough—or rather not soon enough for your liking—your shift is over, and you can head home. As you are leaving the bar, you suddenly have a very bad feeling come over you, and that was something new. You haven't had a feeling like that for over a year now, and the last time you had it, somebody had explosive shits in the bar restroom and spread it all over the place, leaving you to clean it up. So that feeling usually means something very bad is going to happen. But at least you manage to arrive at your shitty apartment without issue, though given that the apartment is about three houses over from the bar, both in the shittiest part of town, that was to be expected. As usual, you collapse on the sofa in front of a running TV showing some sort of shitty re-run of an ancient program because that's all the local stations show here, and before long, you fall asleep.

Then, a blaring buzzing noise jolts jolts you awake. For a moment, you think it's your alarm, but as you start regaining full consciousness, you notice it's still dark out. A quick look at the clock tells you it's 2 AM, and you wonder why the fuck there is some sort of buzzing waking you up at this sort of time. But then, one look at the TV answers that question. Instead of some boring program, all you get to see is a black screen with white text reading "Emergency Alert System". You quickly realize what is going on. Some sort of shit is going down in this town, and you're stuck here. Now all you can do is listen and find out just what the hell is going down here.

A voice begins to speak on the TV: "This message is being broadcast at the request of the Rockmore Police Department. Civil authorities have released a civil emergency message. Important information will follow." Your mind races with possibilities. What is it going to be? The militia making their move? The cult starting sacrifices? The police launching a coup? Mayor Anderson's moonshine lab exploded? The power plant blew up? The serial killer escaped and is on the loose? You had no idea what was about to come.