The first time I tried to take on a horde in The Beast, I genuinely thought my gaming career might be over. I remember crouching behind a rusted-out van, watching six or seven zombies shambling through the fog, and my heart was absolutely pounding. I’d just spent the last twenty minutes carefully scavenging for supplies, and the idea of losing it all to a clumsy encounter was terrifying. I took a deep breath, tightened my grip on my makeshift pipe weapon, and thought, "Okay, this is it. This is my Jili Try Out moment." I wasn’t just playing a game; I was being tested. That phrase, "Jili Try Out," kept echoing in my mind. It wasn't about a flawless victory; it was about surviving the initial, brutal learning curve and coming out the other side smarter.

My experience was a stark contrast to my time with Dying Light 2. I distinctly recall having an easier go of things in that game than I did in The Beast, thanks to hero Aiden Caldwell's expansive list of parkour and combat abilities. Aiden felt like a superhuman from the get-go, capable of scaling buildings with effortless grace and dispatching enemies with a growing arsenal of moves. In The Beast, my character, Kyle, isn't depicted as a lesser freerunner or fighter, but his skill tree is nonetheless smaller, causing him to feel more vulnerable in a way I hope the series sticks with going forward. This vulnerability isn't a design flaw; it's the entire point. It forces you to think, to plan, and to respect the world you're in. There were many times, especially in those first five hours, when I'd have to retreat in a minor panic from a small horde of just four or five basic zombies just to catch my breath and reassess my pathetic strategy. The Beast isn't a game where you can usually just hack up the crowd without careful consideration and stamina management. You try that, and you're dead in about twelve seconds flat. I learned that the hard way, losing nearly 350 scrap resources I'd painstakingly collected because I got greedy with one too many swings.

This is where the real "Jili Try Out" philosophy clicks into place. Success isn't handed to you; it's earned through repeated failure and adaptation. I remember one particular night cycle—the game's world is about 30% more dangerous after dark—where I was trapped on the second floor of a derelict bookstore. I had maybe 15% health left, and my only weapon was a knife with a durability of about 12 hits remaining. A group of six infected were pounding on the door, and the window was boarded up. My first instinct was panic, pure and simple. But then I remembered a piece of the environment I'd barely registered: a weak section of the ceiling in the corner. It wasn't a marked exit or a glowing interactive object; it was just part of the world. Using the last of my stamina, I vaulted onto a bookshelf and punched through the rotten wood, scrambling into the attic and onto the roof just as the door downstairs splintered open. That moment of desperate, unscripted problem-solving was more thrilling than any scripted story mission. It was my victory, born from my previous failures.

This kind of design makes every resource matter. I found myself obsessing over things I'd normally ignore. A single bottle of antiseptic wasn't just a healing item; it was a precious commodity that could mean the difference between life and death in the next encounter. I'd estimate that in my first playthrough, I spent a good 65% of my time simply avoiding conflict, learning patrol routes, and identifying escape routes. It’s a slower, more methodical pace that won't be for everyone, but for me, it created a level of immersion I rarely find. The smaller skill tree forces you to master the fundamentals of movement and combat instead of relying on a flashy super-move to save you. You become a better player not because your character unlocked a new ability, but because you, the person holding the controller, genuinely improved. That’s the ultimate goal of any good "Jili Try Out"—it’s about your growth as much as the character's.

So, if you're about to dive into The Beast, my advice is to embrace the struggle. Don't get frustrated when you die to a handful of zombies in the beginning. See it as part of your training. Your initial "Jili Try Out" will be messy, clumsy, and probably end with you being eaten more times than you'd care to admit. But once you learn to manage your stamina, to use the environment as a weapon, and to understand that retreat is often the smartest tactic, you'll find a deeply rewarding experience underneath all the tension. It’s a game that respects your intelligence and punishes your recklessness, and in today's landscape of power fantasies, that’s a refreshing change of pace that I personally adore.