[99%
100%.
System loaded.
Assisting Host in replacing original body… Replacement complete.
Replacing Host's original physique and genetic information… Replacement complete.]
A cramped bathroom in a typical American rental unit: a tub, a shower curtain, no window, only a broken vent.
Sanders, wearing black loose shorts and a white T-shirt, stood before the vanity.
The cold voice echoed in his ears as he watched his height, face, and hair shift in the mirror—fast enough to track with the naked eye.
Soon the changes stopped.
In the mirror: chiseled features, sharp brows over bright eyes, neat short hair, healthy wheat-colored skin, height settled at roughly six foot.
He turned and walked out. Beyond the door lay a standard studio apartment.
Combined living room and kitchen, sofa facing a TV, sliding doors to a balcony with floor-to-ceiling glass, bedroom door ajar.
Sanders sat on the sofa, turned toward the night view outside, and sank into thought.
First: the transmigration.
Back on Earth he'd been a Chinese hoops junkie—of course you bring a basketball to a street fight.
But in a pickup game one guy elbowed him mid-layup; he crashed, back of his head hitting the concrete.
Next thing he knew, he was lying in this bathtub.
Second: the original owner of this body.
Same name, also Chinese, even a similar face.
Parents dead in an accident; the kid had instantly sold everything, hired an agent, and flown to America to study in Raccoon City.
Financial freedom let him sample every pleasure; a year later he was hooked on D, then OD'd in this very bathroom—leaving the body open for Sanders.
Finally: that emotionless system… wait.
Raccoon City?
[Scanning Host's world… please stand by… scan complete.
This world contains numerous anomalies posing extreme threat to humanity. Unchecked, they will drive the species to extinction.
Due to high danger, system grants Host three free gacha pulls. Use now?]
…" Sanders didn't know what to say.
From the original's memory: 28 May 1998, early morning—and there really was a Raccoon City.
This was the Resident Evil universe; game or film version, he hadn't figured out yet.
He steadied his breathing. 'System, what exactly are these "anomalies"?'
[Anomalies are organisms, objects, or spaces beyond normal human understanding.
Comparable to sci-fi, horror, weird-fiction, or mythological plots you once watched.
Some may be friendly or neutral, but hostile anomalies dominate this world.]
So not just zombies—other horrors too. Great luck." He snorted.
He flopped back against the sofa and stared at the ceiling, emotions tangled.
Accidental death → transmigration → system → apocalyptic world.
Sanders's feelings were a mess.
But the jump had happened; no amount of resentment at the elbow-throwing guy could rewind it.
Accepting reality, he dove back into the original's memories to see whether this Raccon City leaned toward the films or the games.
Seconds later he had the key clue.
Yesterday's Raccoon Times front-paged a woman mauled to death by a "wild animal."
Recent days had also carried reports of "cannibalism" and "ghouls."
In the movies Umbrella's investigation let Hive infected and lickers escape, dooming the city within hours.
In the games, frequent attacks pushed the RPD to send S.T.A.R.S. into the Arklay Mountains in July.
Which day, he couldn't recall—he was only a casual fan.
Convinced this was game-verse, he told the system: 'I'll take one pull.'
[Processing first draw… Congratulations. Host gains supreme control over red queen and White Queen (Chronicles version, not film canon).]
AI?" Sanders blinked.
Red and White Queens were Umbrella's AIs with cutting-edge processing and analysis.
red queen was iconic—film one's nightmare fuel, and in the games she'd even outplayed Albert Wesker.
White Queen barely got a mention.
He collected himself.
'How do I give them orders?'
[Via any network-connected device: mobile phone, PC, or laptop.
Once online, you may speak or command them directly.]
He rose and headed for the bedroom.
Inside, ignoring the mess, he flicked on the light, sat at the desk, and booted the era-appropriate tower.
The case whirred; a minute and a half later.
Windows 95's startup chime played through the speakers, the CRT blooming into its desktop.
Pixelated icons and blocky mouse cursor hit him with childhood nostalgia.
Two triangle icons sat on the screen.
One white.
One red.