Chapter 2: Chapter 2
My half-melted face dripped onto the forest floor as the blue screen flickered back to life, buzzing like a sketchy motel sign while the digital wheel started spinning like a hamster on a massive caffeine bender.
The colors blurred into a nauseating smear before finally screeching to a halt on a glowing biohazard symbol with a thick red slash through it.
Was that supposed to be ominous or auspicious? I honestly had no idea.
[Buff 2 Acquired: Controlled Infection]
[Through absolute cellular quantum alignment, you have achieved a selective-gatekeeping membrane barrier over all biological excretions.
You now possess conscious, manual control over your viral load. You can choose whether your saliva, blood, or reproductive fluids infect a target.]
Hold on a fucking second—reproductive fluids?
I wondered if the System was actually serious, because I definitely did not look like some kind of biological Johnny Appleseed about to go around spraying radioactive zombie-nut all over the Arklay Forest.
Nobody was going to sign up for that, considering I was a walking biological hazard and definitely not some late-night adult channel star catering to highly specific monster-girl fetishes.
Maybe down the line, if I ever managed to grind enough points to buy my handsome face back, I could worry about that, but for now, I decided to just stick to the basic, non-lethal biting and call it a day.
Honestly, though, that first skill alone was an absolute cheat code, and the Umbrella Corporation would have gladly fed their entire board of directors to a pack of starving Hunters just to get their hands on a genetic shortcut like this.
I didn’t even have to chew on people to progress, and there was absolutely zero mention of uncontrolled mutation from overfeeding like what happened to every other godforsaken creature in this horror franchise.
My survival strategy was incredibly simple, since I just needed to become the ultimate bottom-feeder.
Resident Evil protagonists always left a trail of giant, heavily mutated boss corpses in their wake, which meant all I had to do was lurk in the bushes like a dirty rat, wait for the rocket launcher smoke to clear, and feast on the all-you-can-eat biological buffet.
Even if I couldn’t morph back into a normal guy, climbing the ladder to become a Tyrant was definitely on the table, because even though I would be a seven-foot-tall, hulking wall of grey meat with an exposed heart, nobody was going to ask about my skin routine when I could snap their spine like a twig.
And this second skill, weird wording aside, was an absolute lifesaver, especially since my biggest fear—right after getting my head popped by a shotgun-toting protagonist—was accidentally breathing on some poor survivor and starting a completely fresh outbreak.
Now, if I had to interact with actual people, I wouldn’t be a walking, automatic biological hazard, and I wouldn’t have to worry about accidentally wiping out humanity because I sneezed, giving me a tiny, microscopic sliver of control over my own disgusting existence.
Everything was going to be perfectly fine, or at least that was what I told myself before the friendly blue light died and a harsh, blaring crimson glare replaced it.
The light bathed the dark pine trees in an angry red that practically screamed imminent danger, though I couldn’t even tell if these were actual light effects or just shit being beamed straight into my brain.
[Notice: The thermodynamic balance of evolutionary bullshit must be maintained. The System cannot generate high-tier evolutionary traits without a biological counterbalance.]
[Genesis requires Damnation.]
[Initiating Damnation Lottery.]
Oh, come on, a Damnation Lottery sounded like a fast track to getting my bone marrow turned into spicy mustard, and I was definitely not down for that.
I tried to force another wet, gargling protest out of my wrecked throat to tell the system I formally declined, because I was totally good with my two buffs and they were more than enough.
[Error: Host cannot decline the Damnation Lottery. Commencing spin.]
The wheel materialized again under a drenching of aggressive red light, and the symbols on it were a nightmare parade of skulls, shattered bones, and melting faces.
It spun fast enough to make my rotting eyes water before locking into place with a heavy thud, like a solid steel vault door slamming shut.
Instead of a spooky skull, the wheel landed on a glowing neon icon of a heavily veined dick and balls that looked like they were on the absolute verge of popping.
[Debuff Acquired: Apex Breeding Urge]
[Description: Due to your newly acquired pathogen regulation, your testicles have mistaken your survival instinct for an evolutionary grand opening. You suffer from constant, extreme sexual desire that scales exponentially with your evolution. Failure to regularly dominate viable female hosts will result in rapid mental degradation and uncontrollable, feral rampages.]
I read the red text once, then read it a second time, desperately hoping my decaying retinas were playing some kind of cruel joke, but unfortunately, they were fully functioning.
I had literally just joked about not spraying my zombie-juice around, and the universe took that personally by giving me the ultimate coomer debuff, causing my brain to completely stall out.
I looked down at my mottled, bruised hands, then at the exposed yellow fat and white bone sticking out of my left knee, wondering how an increased libido and extreme sexual desire made any biological sense when I was literally a walking corpse.
I smelled like an outhouse left in the desert sun, my vocal cords were soup, and my skin was actively sliding off in wet, grey clumps, so I had to wonder if this dead body even possessed a functional weapon.
A blinding rush of pure, unadulterated filth flooded my brain before I could even finish that thought, instantly hijacking my mind with a barrage of ultra-high-definition mental images that would make a seasoned adult film director throw up.
Vivid, unbidden fantasies exploded behind my eyes as I saw Jill Valentine in her tight blue tube top bent over a desk, Claire Redfield bound in writhing, slimy tentacles, and Ada Wong looking down at me with bedroom eyes while wearing absolutely nothing but that iconic red dress.
Would Claire Redfield prefer my hulking Tyrant form, or did those Raccoon City Drain Deimos ruin throat-stuff for her forever?
Bad brain, stop thinking about flea-monster anatomy, we are trying to survive here.
The sheer intensity of the lust was terrifying, because this was not some normal human itch that I could easily ignore.
It was a violent, primal need hardcoded straight into my decaying cells, aggressively rewiring my brain to do nothing but hunt, pin down, and breed.
I dragged my ruined hands down my face, trying to scrub the filthy thoughts out of my skull, but the raw sexual gravity just kept pulling me back in.
And then, the physical fallout manifested with absolute, zero-chill violence.
A heavy, throbbing pressure started building between my thighs, feeling exactly like someone hooked my groin up to a high-pressure hydraulic pump and cranked the dial until the knob broke off.
Wait, don’t tell me—
My tattered, blood-stained lab pants bulged outward with alarming force, and the cheap fabric groaned loudly under the sudden strain until the inseam gave up completely, ripping open with a loud, pathetic tear.
My fingers shook as I slowly reach down and pulled the ruined cloth aside to investigate, and my jaw unhinged, dropping open with a soft, wet click.
Hanging there between my rotting thighs was an absolute weapon of mass destruction—we were talking about an easy eight inches of thick, concrete-hard meat. The shaft was completely hairless and colored a bruised, unnatural purplish-grey, with thick black veins coiling around it like parasitic worms that were visibly throbbing with hot, dark blood.
It looked bizarrely healthy and terrifyingly functional, completely contrasting my otherwise rotting, decaying aesthetic.
It was incredibly hot to the touch, radiating a bizarre, feverish warmth that completely clashed with the cold deadness of the rest of my body. I stared at this giant zombie-schmeat in absolute horror, because this was beyond absurd.
[Notice: Your reproductive organs have been heavily mutated to accommodate your debuff. They are currently the most biologically active, structurally sound, and durable cells in your entire body.]
I had exposed bone on my knee, but my balls were apparently bulletproof, which made me wonder who exactly wrote the priority list for this evolution, since it was like putting a military-grade rocket launcher on a rusty tricycle.
I glared at the floating screen, mentally scrambling to find some kind of loophole in this nightmare, because surely I could just take care of this myself. Can’t I just punch the clown, raw-dog a fist, and call it a day?
[Negative, Host. Flogging the undead dolphin into a bush does not trigger the biological reward loop required to fulfill the Apex Breeding Urge. Your body requires the presence of a viable female host. Ejaculating into the dirt of the Arklay Mountains will yield zero mental stabilization.]
I couldn’t believe this shit, and I had to ask if the system had any idea how hard it was to find a living, breathing woman out here in the middle of a spooky forest. The only females within ten miles were probably other decaying zombies, and that was where I drew the line.
Wait... do I have to—
There was absolutely no way in hell I was doing that, because I was not touching that rotting, maggot-infested zombiussy.
I had standards, and even though I might currently be a walking biological disaster with my massive meat-missile hanging out of my ruined pants, I drew a hard line at sticking it into a corpse that was actively decomposing.
Could I actually handle a three-way with the Dimitrescu sisters, or would their flies eat my bulletproof dick before I even got to first base?
Get a grip, you absolute degenerate, your left kneecap is literally showing.
[Host is advised to seek out high-value female targets, commonly referred to as ’Heroines’ or ’Villainess’. Fulfilling your debuff with these entities provides significant evolutionary benefits.]
Oh, sure, just go find a heroine, because that sounded incredibly easy, didn’t it?
I could just waddle my rotting ass up to Rebecca Chambers or Jill Valentine, tip my non-existent fedora, and politely ask if she wanted a one-way ticket on the t-Virus express, and I was sure she would love that.
Those women had guns, and they were highly trained military operatives who shot things that look exactly like me for a living. The second they spotted my ugly grey mug, they were going to paint the nearest pine tree with my brains, or worse, shoot my bulletproof dick just to see if the bullets actually bounced off.
[To aid in your evolution, the System has provided the Evolution Shop and the Roulette Wheel. By hunting and killing special mutated creatures, you will earn Evolution Points.]
[These points can be used to purchase genetic upgrades, spin the Roulette for random monster themed multiverse spanning rewards, or buy the evolutionary forms of creatures you have slain.]
That seems nice...
Maybe I could buy a fresh human skin, or buy my voice back so I stopped sounding like a garbage disposal full of wet gravel, so I demanded to see the damn shop right now.
A new screen materialized in front of my face, and my excitement immediately died a cold, brutal death, because the interface was almost entirely blank. There were no shotguns, no cool powers, and zero magical potions that could fix my melting face. The only thing listed was a basic, flashing message.
[Evolution Shop currently locked. Kill and absorb a unique biological target to register its genetic blueprint and unlock buyable content.]
I was being completely scammed, because this shop was emptier than a Blockbuster in 2010, which meant I had to go out and play Monster Hunter as a slow-ass zombie just to put inventory on the shelves.
[Affirmative, Host. The Roulette Wheel remains unlocked. A special first-time spin costs 10 Evolution Points. All subsequent spins will cost 100 Evolution Points. Host currently possesses 0 Evolution Points.]
I stared at the glowing zero, and questions immediately started piling up in my rotting head.
How exactly did this economy work, what kind of creature dropped how much EP, and did I get points for stepping on a spider, or did I have to suplex a Licker to see a payout? And what specifically counted as biomass for my cellular decay, because I wanted to know if I could eat a squirrel, or if it had to be a mutant.
The blue screen simply hovered there without providing a single clue, and the System completely ignored my questions.
Then another terrifying thought hijacked my panic, and it was a really bad one.
I was in the Arklay Mountains, and there was an Umbrella lab nearby, which meant Resident Evil, but which flavor of Resident Evil was I actually dealing with here?
I had completely overlooked the movies, but the Paul W.S. Anderson cinematic universe had its own version of Raccoon City and the Arklay range, and if I was stuck in that specific brand of fuckery, things were infinitely worse. I would have to deal with Alice, a psychic, clone-spawning, dual-wielding Mary Sue who could vaporize my zombie ass with a single dirty look.
System, am I in the games or the movies? This is incredibly important information, so blink once for Capcom, or twice for Milla Jovovich.
The blue rectangle offered absolutely zero clarification, leaving me hanging in the dark, which was just my typical luck.
I took a deep, rattling breath of the damp forest air, though trying to calm down felt like trying to defuse a bomb while high on meth.
The constant, aggressive hum of lust buzzing in the back of my mind made it almost impossible to focus, especially since I was literally wandering around a dark forest with a massive, throbbing meat-bat jutting out of my ruined pants.
I really needed to get my priorities straight before my brain completely turned into mush.
First off, I was absolutely starving, and with my cellular integrity sitting at a pathetic twenty-three percent and dropping fast, I needed to find some biomass to absorb with my fancy vacuum-touch buff before I turned into a typical feral zombie.
If that happened, I wouldn’t even get to test drive my new, bulletproof undead cock, which would be a tragedy of evolutionary proportions.
Or maybe even in feral state, I might start craving booty instead of flesh, who knows..
Secondly, I needed those sweet, sweet evolution points, so I had to find something mildly dangerous to kill and absorb right away and since I couldn’t just sit in the mud forever, I guess it was time to start hunting.
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