Ugh, my head. It felt like the world's worst hangover.
I needed to get up. If I didn't get some ice water to settle my stomach soon, I was definitely going to puke.
Noah groaned, shifting his weight from side to side before finally forcing himself upright. The last thing he remembered was being at the office. A woman's voice had spoken a few words to him, and then… total darkness. He had blacked out.
As the memory flickered, Noah began to scan his surroundings.
The room was basic: gray, prefabricated walls, a bulky, old-school CRT television, and a ceiling fan humming rhythmically overhead. He was sitting on a soft bed that—despite the weird circumstances—had actually provided a decent night's sleep.
The scene looked unfamiliar, yet it felt strangely grounded in a reality he didn't recognize. Noah stared, dumbfounded.
Where the hell am I?
Everything about the room screamed "United States, late 20th century." In an era where personal computers were rare and communication relied on landlines, the prospects for entertainment looked grim.
But more importantly: How am I supposed to play Resident Evil 9 now? He'd heard the ninth installment was going to be a massive crossover featuring all the legendary protagonists. Now, that felt like a lifetime away.
While he was wallowing in frustration, a sharp ring-ring echoed through the room.
Noah looked around and spotted a telephone in the corner. Its cord was plugged into the wall, and a faint red light was blinking. He vaguely recalled that almost no one used these types of phones anymore.
Since he had no other leads, answering it seemed like the only choice. He rushed over and snatched the receiver.
"Hello? Who is this?"
"Listen, you little brat, your rent is due! You'd better have that money ready. I'm coming over tomorrow to collect!"
"Huh? What did you say?"
Noah stood there, completely bewildered. The fluent, heavily accented English was total gibberish to him. People always said that an "authentic" accent was hard to understand, but this was ridiculous.
Noah wasn't incompetent. He had graduated from university and passed Level 6 of the English Proficiency Test. If he hadn't been neglecting his English at his desk job for so many years, he surely would have reacted faster. It was just a conversation; if he didn't catch the first sentence, he just needed the guy to repeat it slowly.
Right. How do you say "slowly" in English? "I... I... I am fine, and you?"
Damn it. Why did that come out? Apparently, the influence of those elementary school textbooks went deeper than he had imagined.
"..."
The person on the other end froze for a second, then launched into a rapid-fire tirade of English that Noah couldn't decipher even with maximum concentration.
Desperate, Noah's first instinct was to find a translation app. He began a frantic search of his own body, checking every pocket and even patting down his socks. Finding nothing, he turned his attention to the room, tearing through the bedsheets he had just been lying on.
The smartphone—the constant companion of his youth—was gone. Vanished.
Helpless and suppressing a surge of grief, Noah listened to the nagging on the other end of the line, offering random, mindless affirmations just to get the man to stop.
"OK, OK. Yes, yes."
At the very least, he had to get through this call before he could figure out what was happening.
Finally, the caller hung up. Noah felt physically and mentally drained. It wasn't just the phone call; it was the crushing weight of the unknown—the terrifying sensation of everything being simultaneously familiar and alien.
He walked into the bathroom, splashed his face with cold water, and looked into the mirror.
His face hadn't changed. He still had those handsome features and jet-black hair with bangs hanging slightly over his forehead. He was wearing a white dress shirt, black trousers, and black leather shoes—the quintessential "insurance salesman" look.
Every time he saw himself dressed like this, Noah couldn't help but mock his own appearance, imitating a real estate agent's pitch:
"Prime location, right next to the subway! The best investment is a happy home!"
"Would you like some insurance? Peace of mind for the rest of your life!"
Noah let out a faint, bitter smile. He didn't even know where he was, yet he still had the heart to play the clown for his own amusement. He really did have thick skin.
Stepping back into the room, something finally caught his eye. On the dining table lay a stack of newspapers. Next to it, a calendar hung on the wall.
A quick glance at the calendar showed the date: July 2nd. Noah racked his brain for any significant historical events on that date, but nothing clicked. To him, it seemed like a perfectly ordinary day.
Fine. Let's check the paper. He picked up the top newspaper. The print confirmed the date: July 2, 1998. At least he knew when he was.
He began to scan the contents—or rather, the pictures. The dense blocks of English text were a headache; even squeezing every bit of knowledge from his brain, he couldn't translate full sentences.
However, a large photo on the front page sent a jolt of recognition through him.
In the center of the black-and-white photo was a portly American man wearing a police cap. He had a small mustache and his hands were pressed firmly against a podium as if he were mid-speech. His gaze was stern, but there was an unmistakable gleam of corruption in his eyes. To Noah, this man looked like the epitome of a crooked official.
"Holy shit... isn't that Chief Brian Irons?"
Noah's heart skipped a beat. This was bad. Very bad.
He began tracing the text under the photo with his finger, searching for keywords. When he saw words like "MURDERS" and "S.T.A.R.S." appearing in the reports, his pulse quickened. His blood began to boil.
Am I... have I really crossed over into the world of Resident Evil?! Holy fuck. Am I actually going to live through the Raccoon City outbreak? Noah felt his face flush as adrenaline surged through his veins. This was incredible! No more shitty office job. No more listening to out-of-touch bosses barking orders. This was pure liberation.
He had time. September 27th—the day the city truly fell—was still over two months away. If he planned ahead, he could survive this world and maybe even thrive. He could use this time to learn English or at least enough to get by.
He collapsed back onto the bed to catch his breath, but before he could even stretch, he bolted upright and slapped himself across the face.
"Wait, no! If today is July 2nd, then the events of Resident Evil 0 happen in just twenty days! I only have twenty days!"
The excitement vanished, replaced by cold reality. Even if RE0 was twenty days away, what could he do? He was just a corporate drone with zero combat training who couldn't even order a pizza in English. What did the "Ecliptic Express" have to do with him?
Besides, fan-favorite characters like Rebecca Chambers wouldn't suddenly fail just because he existed. He should just focus on preparing himself and getting the hell out of Raccoon City.
Noah moved instantly, tearing the room apart in search of cash or anything of value. Utilizing every resource at hand—that was the first lesson he had learned in the real world.
"Is this not what you desired?"
Suddenly, that same gentle, sophisticated female voice echoed in his mind again.
"Who's there?!" Noah snapped, his guard up.
Last time, he had only heard a few words before losing consciousness. He wouldn't let that happen again. He needed to know exactly what was going on.