Streets of Raccoon City, burning cars, broken windows, and a ridiculous amount of undead guts decorating the sidewalks.
I took a deep breath—not because I needed oxygen, but because it calmed my overpowered brain for exactly three seconds.
The translucent HUD floated in front of me again, updating like some cosmic video game patch note.
[Daniel - Death (Full Substitute Mode)]Species: Unknown (Cosmic Concept)Mental Discipline: 20/100 — Trash, but improving… slightly.Power Mastery: 10.00% — Dangerously undertrained.Auto-Cleaning: Maximum — You stay fresh, even during the apocalypse.Accidental Genocide Risk: Moderate. Please focus.
As I processed that, another notification popped up, pinging like a text message from beyond existence:
"Congratulations, Daniel. I just officially signed your cosmic work contract." — GOD
I stared at the message, a divine SMS flashing on the corner of my vision.
"Seriously? You're giving me full-time Death status via text?"
God replied instantly, another status bar glowing:
"Welcome to the team! No dental plan though. You technically don't have teeth anymore. Also, try not to vaporize the timeline."
I sighed.
Jill was still next to me, trying to piece together how I turned Nemesis into roadkill without lifting a finger. Her expression was classic apocalypse fatigue mixed with 'what the hell is my life right now'.
"We need to get to a safehouse," she muttered, motioning for me to follow.
"Sure, but… side note… I'm still struggling with the whole 'thinking equals mass extinction' thing," I admitted, walking behind her as we weaved through burning alleyways.
Suddenly, more undead shuffled toward us.
"Kill him… eat him… brainsss…"
The thoughts slapped me like a mental punch.
Before I could stop myself—POP. POP. SPLAT.
Heads burst. Bodies collapsed.
Jill froze. "You're doing that, aren't you?"
"Yeah, they thought about hurting me." I grimaced. "It's like a mental landmine—if someone even imagines me dead, they explode. Neat, right?"
She looked horrified. "Neat is not the word I'd use."
More zombies staggered out. The same hostile intentions flared—and so did my uncontrolled death aura.
Corpses piled up faster than she could blink.
The HUD kept updating:
Hostile Thoughts Detected: 23Total Fatalities: 23Mental Discipline: Still AwfulPower Mastery: Barely 10.01%Auto-Cleaning: You still smell divine.
We ducked into an abandoned convenience store. Jill barricaded the door while I stared at the cereal aisle, fighting not to accidentally disintegrate the entire building.
"Okay, okay… think happy thoughts," I muttered to myself. "Puppies. Rainbows. Jill not shooting me in the face…"
"Don't even joke about that," Jill warned, pointing her pistol.
Unfortunately, her brain betrayed her for a split second—a defensive, reflexive thought of what if he goes rogue… eliminate threat…
BOOM.
The shelf next to us exploded into a shower of canned beans and sugary cereal.
"Sorry, sorry!" I shouted, waving the dust away.
Jill glared. "Focus!"
I pointed at my HUD. "I'm trying! You see this? Mental Discipline: Twenty. That's basically toddler level."
She groaned, pinching the bridge of her nose.
Another ping on my interface—divine message from God, casual as ever:
"Proud of you, kid. Only mildly destroyed part of a store this time. Progress!"
I rolled my eyes. "You watching everything I do?"
"Always," came the celestial reply. "Also, stop thinking about destroying the sun. I saw that intrusive thought sneak in."
"Damn it," I muttered, trying not to imagine the solar system imploding like a cheap balloon.
More undead were clawing at the windows now.
Jill cocked her gun. "We need a plan."
I cracked my knuckles. "Plan is… they think about hurting me… they die. Easy."
She frowned. "And if I accidentally think about it again?"
"Then only the canned beans suffer," I reassured.
CRASH!
The undead burst through the barricade, groaning, eyes blazing with hunger—and immediate hatred toward me.
Their thoughts screamed: Kill him. Rip him apart. Feast.
POP. POP. POP.
Carnage everywhere. Blood and brain matter painted the floor like modern art.
Jill stood frozen, wide-eyed.
I just shrugged. "Told you. Walking thought-triggered apocalypse."
The HUD flashed again:
Hostile Thoughts Detected: 58Total Fatalities: 58Mental Discipline: 21/100 — Marginally less garbage.Power Mastery: 10.02% — Still a disaster waiting to happen.Auto-Cleaning: You sparkle, literally.
Jill shook her head. "You are the most dangerous idiot I've ever met."
"I'll take that as a compliment."
Suddenly, the ground shook.
Far down the street, a monstrous silhouette approached—a Tyrant-class B.O.W., towering and grotesque, claws dripping with experimental biotech madness.
It locked eyes with me.
The thought hit like a brick wall of hate: Terminate…
POP.
The creature's head ruptured like a rotten pumpkin.
Jill jumped. "You're a walking bio-weapon!"
I grinned. "I'm cosmic job security for graveyards."
Another ping from God:
"By the way… if you blow up Raccoon City, HR's going to be pissed."
I smirked, cracking my neck. "Guess I better learn discipline before I sneeze away the planet."