Author's Note: If you want me to continue this work, I would appreciate your encouragement. Please help make this novel famous! I would like to reach 200 power stones. If you have any advice for me, please comment so I can improve.
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Chapter: A World That Eats the Weak
For a brief moment, Atlas believed the voice in his head was nothing more than a side effect.
Shock.
Brain damage.
Some delayed hallucination brought on by dying and waking up wrong.
Is this a dream? If so, what does it mean?
I would have woken up, this is just a bad dream, nothing more. I'll wake up at home any minute now…
.
.
.
…
But I didn't…
He had experienced worse sensations before—pain so vivid it makes people mad, silence so absolute it rang louder than gunfire. Compared to that, a voice meant nothing.
Or so he thought.
Then his gaze drifted to the shattered glass wall beside him, and his eyes caught something painted onto a steel bulkhead beyond the lab.
A red-and-white symbol.
Two curved shapes forming an umbrella.
Clean. Corporate. Familiar.
Atlas froze.
His mind, which had been cold and methodical just seconds ago, skipped—just once.
"…You've got to be kidding me."
That logo wasn't just familiar. It was burned into pop culture, into late-night gaming sessions, into every apocalyptic nightmare humanity had ever packaged as entertainment.
A logo from his favorite apocalypse zombie game series.
Umbrella Corporation.
He is in one of the craziest low level worlds in the multiverse of madness.
After becoming happy, Atlas immediately calmed down. After all, this is also a high-risk world. Besides, he's where the shit would hit the fan, Roccoon city.
The pieces snapped together with brutal clarity.
A high-security underground lab.
Zombies that ignored him.
A body that wasn't his.
And now—this.
A system.
A low breath escaped him, slow and controlled.
"So that's how it is," Atlas murmured.
Reincarnation.
Transmigration.
Dropped straight into one of the most infamous death worlds imaginable.
Resident Evil.
Of all places.
For half a second, something dangerously close to laughter threatened to rise in his chest.
Then he crushed it.
Excitement got people killed.
After the initial rush faded, his thoughts settled into something sharper. More dangerous.
Raccoon City.
Not just any city—the city.
Where containment failed.
Where millions died.
Where even protagonists barely survived.
This wasn't a playground. It was a grinder.
And he was standing at the bottom of it.
A translucent blue interface unfolded in front of his vision, clean and precise, hovering as if projected directly onto reality itself.
No fantasy glow.
No mystical runes.
Just cold, efficient design.
\\
[The host has transmigrated into another world, more specifically Resident Evil, and your current mission is to evolve quickly because the plot is about to begin.]
[Current World: Resident Evil – Primary Timeline]
[Host Status: Undead | Tier: Zero]
\\
Atlas's eyes narrowed.
"Tier zero," he repeated quietly. "So that's how low I start."
The interface continued, indifferent to his reaction.
\\
[Mission Directive Issued]
[Objective Priority: Evolution]
[Warning: Canon Events Imminent]
\\
Below it, a new panel materialized.
\\
[Quest Added]
Quest Name: First Level Up
Objective: Eliminate 5 undead entities
Progress: 0 / 5
Reward:
• 100 EXP
• 10 Evolution Points
Penalty (Failure):
• Entity erased due to the Host's status as a weak Tier 0 Undead, failure will result in immediate death and removal from the storyline due to insufficient strength.]
\\
Atlas stared at the penalty line.
No melodrama.
No second chances.
Just erasure.
"…Straight to the point," he said.
There was no fear in his voice.
If anything, there was interest.
People who knew Atlas casually would never guess what passed through his mind at moments like this. To them, he was quiet. Withdrawn. Almost dull. The kind of man who blended into crowds and avoided attention.
But inside—
Inside was something else.
A part of him that had been forged under pressure, sharpened by chaos, and then buried beneath years of forced normalcy.
Hidden within the depths of his soul was a twisted nature that craved nothing but chaos and the ecstasy of battle. That's why he always adored his surname for that very reason. Every syllable dripped with the essence of blood, resonating perfectly with the soul living inside him.
"Five zombies," Atlas said softly. "To survive."
A faint smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.
"That's manageable."
He lifted his gaze.
"Before that," he added, "I need information. So, the system shows me your functions.."
The interface reacted instantly.
Multiple panels unfolded in sequence, hovering neatly within his field of view.
\\
[Status]
[Evolution Paths]
[System Mall]
Limited Access – Currency Required
[Quests]
Active
[Multiversal Transit Authority]
Locked
Authorization Pending
\\
Atlas absorbed it all in silence.
No complaints.
No confusion.
Just assessment.
"That's... interesting," he murmured, his gaze fixed on the flashing prompt:
Multiversal Transit Authority: Locked — Authorization Pending. He read the words over and over, his eyes narrowing as he weighed the implications. For a full minute, he stood motionless, simulating countless possibilities and outcomes in his mind.
He stared at the notification, scrutinizing it as if trying to burn a hole through the holographic text. His mind raced, analyzing the restrictions and the hidden potential behind the lock. After a long, heavy silence, he seemed to reach a conclusion.
Finally, the tension left his shoulders. He shook his head with a dark sense of satisfaction.
"Good."
He paused, then added, almost absently:
"And calling you 'System' is irritating."
There was a brief delay—barely perceptible.
Then a new line appeared.
\\
[Designation Request Detected]
[Please Assign Identifier]
\\
Atlas didn't hesitate as he thought for a few seconds.
"Pleione," he said.
The name felt right.
Distant. Observational. Ever-present. Matching his name.
"If we're bound together," he continued, "we might as well be honest about it. And don't call me 'host.'"
A pause.
Then—
\\
[Identifier Accepted: Pleione]
[User Designation Updated: Atlas]
\\
A sudden chime echoed in his mind.
\\
[Hidden Quest Completed]
Quest: Name the System
Classification: Unique
Reward:
• 1,000 V-Gold
• 100 Evolution Points
\\
Atlas blinked.
"…Didn't expect that."
Not bad.
For the first time since waking up in this nightmare of a world, something resembling genuine satisfaction settled in his chest.
A system that rewarded initiative.
As Atlas drifted through his own thoughts, he couldn't help but smirk at his fortune. To think he had broken free from the shackles of his mundane past! With the Multiversal Transit Authority system function at his fingertips, he could feel it in his rotting bones—his new life would be magnificent, he knew with certainty that his path forward would be glorious, paved with every pleasure life had to offer."
---
Location: The Arklay Mountains, Raccoon City Outskirts.
Date: September 28th.
Time: 05:30 AM.
The storm outside battered the windows of the grand Arklay Mansion, the rain lashing against the glass like a thousand desperate fingers trying to get in. Inside, the silence was heavy, suffocating, and broken only by the erratic breathing of a woman who had forgotten her own name.
Alice moved through the darkened hallways, her mind a fragmented kaleidoscope of missing pieces. She felt a phantom headache pulsing behind her eyes, a side effect of a memory she couldn't recall. Just as she passed a large, ornate mirror, the hair on the back of her neck stood up. Instinct screamed at her, but her body was too slow to react.
A shadow detached itself from the gloom.
A rough hand clamped over her mouth, stifling her scream before it could leave her throat. An arm wrapped around her waist, hauling her backward with desperate strength.
"Mmmffh!"
Alice thrashed, her survival instincts flaring. She clawed at the arm restricting her, her nails digging into a leather jacket, but the man held fast.
"Listen to me," the man hissed in her ear, his voice trembling with urgency. "We have to get out of here! Now!"
Alice didn't know who he was, nor did she care. She prepared to stomp on his foot, to drive an elbow into his ribs—but chaos erupted before she could make her move.
CRASH!
The silence of the mansion was shattered instantly. The floor-to-ceiling windows of the grand corridor exploded inward in a shower of razor-sharp shards. The storm wind howled into the hallway, carrying with it the roar of rotors.
Through the broken jagged gaps, dark silhouettes swung in on rappel lines. They moved with the terrifying precision of apex predators—Umbrella Security Service (USS) Commandos.
Tactical lights cut through the gloom, blinding and disorienting. Red laser sights danced across the walls, painting the room in a grid of lethal intent.
"Get down!"
Before the man holding Alice could react, a blur of black tactical gear launched itself at him. It was a woman—small, lithe, and ferocious. She slammed into the man, tackling him to the marble floor with a bone-jarring thud.
"Hands! Give me your hands!" she screamed, jamming a knee into his spine while deftly snapping zip-ties around his wrists. This was Rain Ocampo, her face a mask of aggression, her P90 submachine gun already slung and ready.
At the same time, the team leader, a towering man known as 'One,' stormed through the broken glass. His boots crunched over the debris as he marched straight toward Alice, his weapon raised but steady.
"Report!" One barked, his voice booming with authority.
Alice blinked, her chest heaving. She looked at the masked soldier, her eyes wide with confusion. The word meant nothing to her. The situation meant nothing. Why were they here? Who was she?
"Huh?" she breathed out, her voice barely a whisper.
One didn't have patience for confusion. He grabbed her shoulder, spinning her around and slamming her against the wall—not to hurt her, but to check her pupils, to shake the answer out of her.
"I said, report, soldier!"
Alice stared back at him blankly, her mind a white fog. "I... I don't know what you're talking about."
One's eyes narrowed behind his tactical goggles. He was about to demand an answer for the third time when a voice cut through the tension.
"Sir," said Kaplan, the team's technical expert, glancing up from the wrist-mounted computer gauntlet glowing blue in the dark. "Security defense mechanisms were activated earlier than expected," he said. "Neural shock likely caused temporary amnesia. She's still suffering aftereffects."
The leader studied Alice for another second.
Then he released her.
"Fine," he said curtly.
One paused, his grip on Alice loosening slightly. He studied her face—the dilated pupils, the trembling hands. He released her, turning his attention to the man pinned on the floor by Rain.
"And you," One demanded, his voice dropping to a dangerous, low timbre. "Who are you?"
Matt Addison groaned, pressing his face against the cold floor. He looked up, his eyes darting between the armed soldiers. He needed a lie, and he needed it fast.
"Like I said... I'm a cop!" Matt stammered, trying to sound authoritative despite his position. "I just transferred to the Raccoon City P.D. My name is Matt Addison. I was recruited not too long ago, they probably don't have me on file yet!"
The air in the room grew colder.
"Check it," One ordered without looking away from Matt.
Kaplan's fingers flew across his keypad, the soft tap-tap-tap echoing in the hall. A holographic projection flickered from his wrist.
"Matt Addison..." Kaplan muttered, scanning the database. "Searching R.C.P.D. personnel records..." The screen flashed red. [NO MATCH FOUND].
"Impossible," Kaplan stated flatly. "He's lying. There's no record of him."
Rain didn't hesitate. She racked the charging handle of her weapon, the metallic click-clack sounding like a death sentence. She pressed the muzzle of her gun against the back of Matt's head.
"So I shoot him," she said. It wasn't a question. It was a suggestion she was eager to carry out.
"Wait!" Matt shouted, his heart hammering against his ribs. He pressed himself flat against the floor, engaging in a desperate prostration. "I'm telling the truth! Check the transfer logs!"
The commandos ignored him. They were machines of war, waiting for a command. Every eye turned to One. The leader stood silent for a heartbeat, weighing the mission parameters against the baggage of a civilian hostage.
"No," One finally said, lowering his weapon. "We don't have time for a body count yet. We take him with us."
Relief crashed over Matt so hard his legs nearly gave out.
He turned back to the large, ornate mirror on the far wall—the secret entrance to the Hive.
The man—James Shade—stood silently for a moment, considering. His gaze flicked between Alice, the prisoner, and the sealed walls around them.
Finally, he spoke.
Shade turned back toward the mansion wall and stepped up to what appeared to be an ordinary mirror.
He placed his hand against the glass.
"Open it."
Kaplan nodded, typing a sequence into a concealed panel. The heavy mirror hissed, the hydraulic seals disengaging. It swung open slowly, revealing a dark, steel-lined elevator shaft that descended into the abyss of the earth.
"The Hive awaits," Shade said.
"Move out," One commanded. "Tight formation. Alice, Matt—you're in the middle. Don't wander off."
The team moved immediately.
Alice was guided forward, still dazed, still searching for answers she didn't have. Matt was dragged along beside her, hands bound, eyes darting wildly.
As the hidden passage sealed behind them, the mansion returned to silence.
Above ground, the night remained peaceful.
Below—
Something ancient, artificial, and hungry was already watching.
As the group moved into the darkness of the elevator, descending toward the hell that awaited them below, none of them noticed the faint, rhythmic humming of the facility's air vents... or the unseen eyes watching them.