"WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU PEOPLE DOING?!"
A sharp voice echoed through the halls of a grand mansion.
"Get to work! We have an important visitor arriving, and I will not have this place looking like a goddamn circus! Someone has just purchased Umbrella Corporation, and I expect everything to be in order!"
The elderly man delivering the reprimand struck the floor with his cane.
His body was frail, his face worn by age, and his breathing carried the faint strain of someone whose time was running short.
But his eyes?
His eyes were as sharp as ever.
Oswell E. Spencer had not built an empire by being a fool, and even now, with death slowly approaching, he had no intention of allowing his subordinates to forget who they served.
At least, that was how things had always been.
Until now.
"Father?"
A woman's voice interrupted his thoughts.
Spencer turned.
Alex Wesker approached him, her blonde hair perfectly arranged, her expression composed enough to conceal the questions clearly burning behind her eyes.
She stopped a short distance away.
"Why are you doing this?"
Spencer regarded her quietly.
"The ownership transfer. The company. Everything." Alex's eyes narrowed slightly. "Umbrella is something you founded. Something you've spent your entire life building. And now you're telling me that you've sold it to someone else?"
She paused.
"I find it difficult to believe you'd simply give it away."
"Alex, darling."
Spencer chuckled, though there was very little warmth in the sound.
"The fact that someone was capable of purchasing the company is certainly unexpected. I'll admit that much."
He adjusted his grip on his cane.
"But business is business. The buyer offered terms that were acceptable, and I saw no reason to refuse."
"That doesn't explain why you'd agree to it."
"Does it need to?"
Alex's expression tightened.
Spencer smiled faintly.
"Umbrella is a corporation, my dear. A very profitable one. And while its ownership may have changed, that doesn't mean everything else must follow suit."
He looked toward the tall windows overlooking the mansion grounds.
"Our projects will continue. Our research will continue. And our ultimate objective remains unchanged."
His gaze returned to her.
"Nothing important is being abandoned."
Alex studied him.
She knew her father well enough to recognize when he was withholding information. The old man had never been particularly generous with the truth when he believed it wasn't necessary.
And yet, this felt different.
Someone had purchased one of the most influential pharmaceutical corporations in the world, a company with secrets buried far deeper than its public image suggested.
And Spencer was behaving as though he'd merely sold a piece of property.
Whoever this new owner was, they had either made an extraordinary offer or possessed something Spencer valued more than control.
Perhaps both.
"Do you know anything about the buyer?" Alex asked.
"Very little."
"Very little?"
"An interesting individual. Young, wealthy, and apparently quite capable of acquiring whatever he desires."
Spencer's lips curved into a faint smile.
"I'm looking forward to meeting him."
Alex didn't return the smile.
Neither did she believe that was the whole story.
Still, she had no intention of pressing him further—not yet.
"Very well, Father."
She turned and walked away, already considering the implications of the ownership transfer.
Somewhere in the world, an individual had just acquired Umbrella Corporation.
And Alex Wesker intended to discover exactly who that individual was.
She simply didn't know that the person in question was currently having a much more pressing problem.
Namely, figuring out where the hell he was.
The first thing I noticed when I woke up was the bed.
Holy shit.
The second thing I noticed was the ceiling.
Holy shit.
I lay there for several seconds, staring upward at what looked like the ceiling of a luxury hotel designed by someone with more money than common sense.
Decorative molding. Intricate detailing. A chandelier that probably cost more than my entire previous life.
I slowly turned my head.
Massive windows.
Expensive furniture.
A wardrobe large enough to house a small family.
And enough empty space that I could probably host a family reunion without anyone having to stand uncomfortably close to one another.
I sat up.
"…What the fuck?"
My voice sounded different.
Not drastically different, but enough that I noticed.
Lower. Clearer. More composed.
I looked down at my hands, flexing my fingers.
Then I examined my arms.
Well-defined muscles. No obvious imperfections. No lingering aches, injuries, or weird stiffness from sleeping in an uncomfortable position.
I swung my legs over the edge of the bed and stood.
Damn.
I felt good.
Not just rested. I felt as though my body had been built specifically to function at its absolute best, every movement effortless and natural.
Then the memories came rushing back.
The strange room.
The god.
The wishes.
The Resident Evil universe.
And, of course, the Twinkie incident that had apparently ended my previous existence.
I stood there for a moment, processing everything.
Then a slow smirk spread across my face.
"No fucking way."
I turned toward the enormous mirror on the other side of the room.
And stopped.
…
Oh.
Oh, we were COOKING.
Snow-silver hair fell naturally around my face, and my silver eyes looked almost metallic beneath the soft lighting. My features were sharp without looking unnatural, my jaw defined, my skin clear, and my overall appearance somewhere between an expensive fashion campaign and a character whose existence would make the fandom collectively lose its mind.
I leaned closer to the mirror.
Then tilted my head.
Then smiled.
"Holy shit. I'm handsome as fuck."
I turned slightly, inspecting my reflection from another angle.
"God, you magnificent bastard."
I was going to have to thank that man again if I ever saw him.
Assuming he hadn't decided to spend eternity watching me struggle for his amusement.
Actually, knowing him, that was probably exactly what he was doing.
I shook my head and looked around the room again.
Alright. First things first.
There were two possibilities.
Either I was filthy rich, or I was related to someone filthy rich.
Considering the size of the room, the furniture, and the fact that the place looked like it belonged in a historical drama with a ridiculous budget, I was leaning heavily toward the former.
I couldn't imagine Leon being responsible for this kind of luxury.
Then again, I hadn't even met the guy yet.
Speaking of which, I needed to figure out my current situation before I started celebrating.
I needed a phone.
A shower.
Some clothes.
And preferably an explanation for why I had apparently woken up in a mansion that looked like it had been designed for royalty.
"Okay," I muttered, rubbing the back of my neck. "Let's get cleaned up, check my phone, and figure out what the hell is going on."
I spotted a phone resting on the bedside table.
Perfect.
I picked it up, unlocked it, and began looking through the notifications.
Messages. Emails. Missed calls.
A few things I couldn't immediately make sense of.
Then I noticed a contact near the top of my recent notifications.
GOD.
I stared at the name.
"…You have got to be kidding me."
I opened the message.
And immediately regretted doing so.
GOD:
Hey, Dante. Quick update.
Your name is staying the same, obviously. However, since you're Leon Scott Kennedy's older brother, I figured I'd make things a little more interesting.
You're filthy rich now. And when I say filthy rich, I mean you could probably buy a small country and still have enough money left over to complain about the taxes.
Oh, and you now own Umbrella Corporation.
I stopped reading.
Read that last sentence again.
Then a third time.
"…I'm sorry, WHAT?"
I looked at the screen as though the words might rearrange themselves into something less insane.
They did not.
I owned Umbrella.
Umbrella Corporation.
The company responsible for some of the worst biological disasters in gaming history.
The corporation that had turned the world into a biological nightmare on multiple occasions.
The corporation whose executives seemed to have collectively agreed that ethics were an unnecessary obstacle to scientific progress.
And I owned the damn thing.
I slowly lowered the phone.
Then raised it again.
Nope.
Still there.
"Holy shit."
I continued reading.
Before you ask, yes, all the paperwork is legitimate. Everything has been handled. The acquisition is official, and the necessary legal arrangements are already in place.
The current research projects will continue unless you decide otherwise. You'll have access to the company's records, resources, facilities, and personnel.
Try not to blow everything up on your first day. I'd appreciate it.
I stared at the screen.
"Try not to blow everything up?"
I let out a short laugh.
"Buddy, I haven't even figured out where the bathroom is."
I scrolled further.
And then came the part that made me narrow my eyes.
Also, I noticed your reactions while you were looking through the memories.
You seemed particularly interested in certain women.
Ada Wong, for example.
I paused.
…
Okay, first of all, that was private.
Second of all, I wasn't going to deny it.
The woman was gorgeous.
Anyway, I've taken the liberty of establishing a preexisting connection between the two of you. You already know each other, and there's some history there, but you're not officially together.
You'll still have to put in the effort. I'm not handing you a girlfriend like a participation trophy.
That said, she's already rather fond of you, so unless you manage to do something spectacularly stupid, you should be fine.
I grinned.
"Now we're talking."
And before you get any ideas, yes, I adjusted certain social conventions in this world. Consensual polygamous relationships aren't automatically treated as scandalous or immoral. That doesn't mean every woman is going to line up to marry you, so don't get carried away.
I nodded to myself.
"Reasonable."
One last thing.
Remember what I said about the cult.
No sacrifices. No weird rituals. No worshippers trying to summon me through a pentagram made out of livestock.
I mean it, Dante.
I'm serious.
Don't make me come down there.
Then, at the very end of the message, there was an emoji.
A fucking emoji.
😠
I stared at the screen.
My expression slowly went blank.
"…Did God just send me a fucking emoji?"
Silence.
I looked at the ceiling.
"An angry one, too?"
Nothing.
I waited another second, half-expecting a second notification.
Nothing came.
I slowly put the phone down on the bed and rubbed my face with both hands.
"Yeah. Alright. Fuck it."
What else was I supposed to do?
I'd died because a zombie horde crushed a Twinkie.
I'd met God.
I'd been reincarnated into a fictional universe.
I'd received three overpowered gifts, become Leon Kennedy's older brother, inherited a fortune, acquired a world-famous pharmaceutical corporation with more skeletons in its closet than an actual graveyard, and apparently secured a head start with Ada Wong.
And the being responsible for all of it communicated through text messages and emojis.
At this point, questioning anything seemed like a waste of perfectly good brain cells.
I picked up the phone again, checked the time, and tossed it onto the bed.
"Shower first. Existential crisis later."
I headed toward the bathroom.
The door opened to reveal a room that was practically a second bedroom, complete with polished marble, enormous mirrors, expensive fixtures, and a shower that looked capable of accommodating an entire basketball team.
I stopped in the doorway.
Then slowly looked back at the bedroom.
"Yeah," I muttered. "I'm definitely rich."
I stepped inside and shut the door.
For the first time since waking up, I allowed myself to relax.
There was a lot to figure out.
My new identity. My family. My company. My system. The timeline. The events I remembered from the games.
And, perhaps most importantly, how to keep Umbrella from turning the world into a biological hellscape while I was still learning how to operate my new life.
No pressure.
I turned on the shower.
Warm water began pouring from the overhead fixture, filling the bathroom with a soft rush.
I stepped beneath it and closed my eyes.
A grin slowly returned to my face.
"Alright, Resident Evil."
I ran a hand through my wet silver hair.
"Let's see how badly I can fuck up your plot."
And somewhere far beyond the boundaries of the world I now inhabited, a certain divine being smiled.
The show had officially begun.