[Following Mr. Jon's command. The ship has entered a habitable planet. Engaging cloaking protocols. Searching for a suitable landing site.]
"Zzzzzzt!"
[Collecting data on this planet's civilization…]
[Executing awakening protocol.]
A misty gas hissed from the wall of the chamber. Before long, the sleeping Jon slowly regained consciousness. His head throbbed with pain, his mind foggy. He shook it hard, forcing clarity back into his thoughts.
"Moos… are we here yet?"
Moos was the ship's onboard intelligence, fused with the memories of a Kryptonian house steward from the House of H'el. That was why Jon named him Moos.
[According to the data preset by you, sir, this planet is called—Earth.]
The calm mechanical voice filled the cabin as Jon pulled up the information Moos had gathered. After a long while of reading, he finally understood where he had landed.
"So it's this world… Now this is interesting."
In his past life, countless people would have recognized this place—some even worshipped it. It was the backdrop of novels, fantasies, and nightmares alike.
The world of Resident Evil.
The world of the undead.
The Umbrella Corporation—translated as "An Bu Lei La" in Chinese—but more commonly known by its true face: the Umbrella.
The name came from their logo: a red-and-white umbrella spread wide, sheltering nothing.
On the surface, Umbrella was an international giant spanning pharmaceuticals, medical hardware, and defense industries. But beneath the polished veneer lay their true lifeblood: clandestine military technology, genetic engineering, bioweapons, and a vault of unspeakable secret projects.
Their reach was vast, tangled through every sector. Their private security force rivaled, even surpassed, the armies of small nations.
And in the shadows—if Jon's memory was correct—they even possessed nuclear warheads.
An entire corporation owning nukes. Imagine what that meant.
To topple a small nation? Child's play.
"It seems I'll need an identity here… Moos, can you make that happen?"
[Of course, Mr. Jon.]
Minutes later, Moos had fabricated an entire life history for him: from childhood records to education to medical files. Seamless. Undetectable.
Jon smirked. "Good. Now… I want into Umbrella. What's the best approach?"
[Processing…]
A flicker, then countless infiltration strategies flashed before him. Every path a perfect entry into Umbrella's ranks.
Jon leaned back, murmuring to himself.
"The outbreak hasn't begun yet… which means the 'Cleansing Plan' hasn't started. Good. That means I still have time. Krypton's second beginning—will start from this world."
What intrigued him most was the T-Virus.
Would it affect a Kryptonian body?
Could it grant them even greater adaptability, powers even beyond what the yellow sun already promised?
He thought of Alice, Umbrella's famed experiment. Just a clone, infected with the T-Virus—yet she gained the ability to sense and even control satellites in near-Earth orbit.
Two thousand kilometers. Even if she had cut corners, the sheer scale was terrifying.
And if a clone could achieve that, what about him—a Kryptonian?
"Moos, is it ready?"
[Yes, sir. You are now officially a frustrated scientist—though still a top-tier one.]
Jon chuckled. Stepping out of the ship, however, his knees buckled.
"Urghhh…"
Nausea, dizziness, weakness—all at once. He fumbled for a vial, injected it into his arm, and only after several minutes did the symptoms subside.
"Damn… I underestimated this. Almost slipped up."
Even General Zod had struggled to adjust to alien worlds; for Jon, born from a scientist's template, the strain was worse. If he hadn't prepared those stabilizers, collapsing in a crowded city could have been fatal.
He boarded a small flyer and headed toward a nearby city—Raccoon City.
Yes. That Raccoon City.
The place Umbrella built with its own hands. Over eighty percent of the city's industries were owned by them, yet all of it was just a façade—a mask for the Hive buried deep underground.
Extravagant. Ruthless. Terrifying.
His clothes shifted, nanofibers weaving into a perfectly tailored suit. On his tall, striking frame, it was a sharp fit. He drew stares as he walked, though in this world, black hair and yellow skin earned little respect. Prejudice was routine here.
Jon ignored it. He entered a café, ordered a coffee, and opened his laptop. On the screen: a single sent email.
Recipient: Dr. Isaacs.
The hidden mastermind of this world.
Umbrella's AI, the Red Queen, had flagged the email as Red-Level Priority.
White was ordinary. Green was routine. Yellow urgent.
Red? That meant critical.
For Jon's message to be marked red—it was enough to stir curiosity in anyone, even Isaacs himself.
The title of the email:
"On the Role of Viruses in Human Evolution: Pathways and Opportunities."
Jon had baited the hook.
Now all he had to do—was wait for Isaacs to bite.