"Honestly, I have to give you credit."
I stared at the man sitting across from me.
He looked like something straight out of a religious painting. Perfectly composed, dressed in white, with an aura that practically screamed divine intervention. If someone told me he was God, I wouldn't have questioned it.
Well, not immediately.
"You've got balls," he continued, shaking his head in amusement. "One man charging into a horde of zombies and attempting to kill every last one of them because they crushed the Twinkie he'd been saving? That's a new one. I can see why they called you the One-Man Army."
I blinked.
Then I looked down at myself.
Then back at him.
"…Damn. So I'm dead, huh?"
"I'm afraid so."
"Yeah, kinda figured." I leaned back in my chair, crossing my arms. "And I'm guessing you're God? You've got the whole powerful and holy thing going on."
He smiled.
I pointed at him.
"So, what are we thinking? A date with the Devil? I mean, I wasn't exactly what you'd call a saint, but I figured I'd at least get a trial before the eternal barbecue."
The man stared at me for a moment.
Then he laughed.
Actually laughed.
"Oh, no. You've got the wrong idea entirely. I'm sending you somewhere else. A world quite similar to your own, except it's filled with zombies. Nasty ones, too. Much stronger than the usual variety. You'll also get a few gifts of your choosing."
…
Hold on.
A world filled with zombies?
And gifts?
I narrowed my eyes.
See, here's the thing about me. I might've been a dumbass in certain situations, but I wasn't stupid enough to accept an offer that sounded suspiciously like a scam from a cosmic salesman.
When something looks too good to be true, it usually is. That goes double when the person offering it is an all-powerful entity who could probably turn me into a decorative throw pillow with a thought.
So naturally, I asked the most important question.
"What do you want?"
His smile widened.
"I simply want a show. Something different. A deviation from the usual balance of things. Give me your hand, and I'll show you what I mean."
I stared at his outstretched hand.
Then at his face.
Then back at his hand.
Was I really about to shake hands with God?
Apparently, yes.
What the hell else was I going to do? Tell him to shove his offer up his divine ass? If this dude wanted me gone, I doubted a strongly worded complaint would change his mind.
With a sigh, I reached out and took his hand.
The moment our palms touched, the world disappeared.
Memories flooded my mind. Images, faces, locations, events—an entire universe of information poured into my head so quickly that I genuinely thought my brain was about to file for workers' compensation.
I squeezed my eyes shut.
"Jesus fucking Christ—"
The headache hit a second later.
Thankfully, it passed almost as quickly as it came.
And then I started laughing.
Not a nervous laugh, either.
An actual laugh.
I looked at the man sitting across from me, who seemed thoroughly entertained by my reaction.
"So, let me get this straight." I rubbed my forehead. "You're sending me into a world that, in my old life, was basically a fictional universe called Resident Evil?"
"Correct."
"And you want me to fuck around with the plot because you're bored and think it'll be more entertaining if things go differently?"
"More or less."
I stared at him.
He stared at me.
Then I shrugged.
"Honestly? Fair enough."
The man raised an eyebrow.
"So, what's your decision?"
"I accept."
I didn't even need to think about it.
Look, I wasn't going to pretend I had some noble reason for accepting. The world was interesting, the possibilities were insane, and considering some of the women I'd just seen in those memories, I wasn't exactly mourning the loss of my old dating prospects.
Besides, it wasn't like I had a particularly attractive alternative waiting for me.
Hell, for all I knew, refusing would send me straight to the underworld. And even if that wasn't the case, this guy could probably find someone else to entertain him before I finished complaining.
I had nothing to lose.
"Smart choice," he said. "I like your personality, so I'm going to throw in an extra gift. Something I think you'll appreciate once you arrive."
I immediately perked up.
"An extra gift, huh?"
"Indeed. You'll probably want to build a cult in my name when you realize what it is."
I opened my mouth.
He lifted a finger.
"However, let me make something perfectly clear. I will not answer your prayers, I will not grant your followers special privileges, and if you start sacrificing people or doing other stupid shit in my name, I reserve the right to teleport you straight back here and give your ass a much-needed whooping."
…
I won't lie.
For the first time since this conversation began, I felt a genuine shiver run down my spine.
It wasn't the threat itself. It was the way his entire demeanor changed.
One second, he was a laid-back dude cracking jokes about my death. The next, the air around him felt so heavy that even breathing seemed like an act of defiance.
Oh.
Right.
This was God.
Not some guy I could mouth off to without consequences.
I cleared my throat.
"Relax, man. Even if it's something that makes me want to do that, I have self-control, y'know? Besides, the whole cult thing is a little too edgy for my taste. I'm not trying to be the final boss of a religious side quest."
I flashed him my best crooked smile.
The same smile that had supposedly gotten me out of trouble on multiple occasions.
Or gotten me into trouble.
Honestly, the results varied.
He looked at me for a moment before shaking his head.
"Alright, enough of that. Down to business. Pick your gifts and your appearance so I can send you on your way. As likable as you are, I don't have all day to stand around chatting."
"Right, right. My bad."
I sat up straighter.
"First things first. I want extreme luck. Like, absurdly good luck. I've spent enough of my previous life getting screwed over by circumstances that I want to experience what it's like to have the universe actually working in my favor for once."
"Granted."
Damn.
No negotiation. No hidden contract. No suspiciously worded terms and conditions.
I could get used to this.
"Second, I want the perfect human body. Everything. Looks, strength, speed, endurance, reflexes, intelligence, mental capabilities—the whole package. I want to be the absolute peak of what a human can be, and then some if that's possible."
The man tilted his head.
"Not particularly original, but practical. Granted."
"Hey, don't judge me. I'm trying to survive a zombie apocalypse, not win a personality contest."
"Of course."
I ignored the sarcasm.
"Give me a second. I'm thinking."
I leaned back and considered my options.
There were plenty of things I could ask for. Superpowers, immortality, magic, some ridiculously overpowered ability that would make every major threat in the series look like a minor inconvenience.
But I wanted something more versatile.
Something I could actually use to keep improving.
Then it hit me.
"Alright. My third wish is a system."
The man's expression remained neutral.
"More specifically, a sign-in system. One that's completely under my control. I've seen enough stories where the protagonist gets stuck with some obnoxious system that treats them like a slave. I don't want that shit. I decide when to use it, how to interact with it, and what information I can access. No forced missions, no punishment for refusing some random objective, and no bullshit that takes control away from me."
"Granted."
I grinned.
"Beautiful. Now for the last one."
I paused dramatically.
The man gave me a flat look.
"Please don't tell me you're going to waste your final wish on something stupid."
"First of all, rude. Second of all, hear me out."
I leaned forward.
"Make me the older brother of that motherfucker who was aura-farming in half the memories you showed me."
He blinked.
"…Who?"
"Leon Scott Kennedy."
For a moment, there was silence.
Then the man's face broke into a grin.
"Granted."
I pumped my fist.
"YES. THAT'S WHAT I'M TALKING ABOUT!"
I didn't know what was better: the fact that I'd be Leon's older brother or the fact that I was about to enter the Resident Evil universe with enough advantages to make the average protagonist look like they'd been handed a rusty spoon and told to figure it out.
Actually, both.
Definitely both.
"Alright," the man said, waving his hand. "Appearance."
A series of floating menus appeared in front of me.
I spent the next several minutes scrolling through the options, examining everything from facial structure to eye color. If I was going to start a new life, I might as well make the most of it.
Eventually, I settled on a combination of features inspired by Gojo Satoru and Sung Jin-Woo.
Sharp features. A naturally composed expression. An appearance that could make people question whether I was a model, an assassin, or a particularly attractive problem.
I chose snow-silver hair and matching silver eyes.
Not white.
Not gray.
Silver.
There was a difference, and I intended to appreciate every damn bit of it.
After confirming my selection, I glanced at the remaining settings.
"Okay, appearance's done."
"Wonderful. Can we move on?"
"Yeah, yeah. Hold your horses."
I confirmed the final options and stepped back, satisfied with my choices.
"Alright. I'm ready. Let's get this show on the road."
The man smiled.
"Enjoy your new life, Dante."
My eyes widened slightly.
Wait.
Did I tell him my name?
Before I could ask, the world began fading around me.
My eyelids grew heavy, and my body seemed to dissolve into the surrounding light.
"Hold on, I—"
I forced out one last sentence before everything went dark.
"…Thank you."
And then I was gone.