This World Is Seriously Ill

"Bang!" Amid the teeth-grating screech of metal, Kevin rolled on the ground to dodge the suddenly accelerated punch.

He turned his head and instantly found his beloved Beetle reduced to two crumpled sheets of scrap metal.

After witnessing the tragic state of his car, Kevin's legs were trembling.

He was not a warrior forged in blood and fire; memories of a peaceful past life made him subconsciously forget that he was in a mad world.

Even after repeated brushes with danger, he still couldn't fully immerse himself in this brutal survival game.

But in that moment just now, Kevin had truly smelled death.

This world was sick—no mercy, only struggle.

And he wanted to live!

In a trance, the inner desire for survival sent adrenaline surging through his body. The trembling in his hands and feet was quickly suppressed. His eyes, patterned with interlacing lines, flickered with two extremes: calm and madness.

When his mind went blank, guided by the data transmitted from the combat system, Kevin finally understood the true meaning of "by heavenly might, enlighten all beings."

According to scientific principles, when the Apocalypse was triggered, it would re-encode the host's neural thinking at the standard of a Stellar-class computer, granting them a temporary ability to learn, analyze, and comprehend akin to a "god."

So back then, not just the firearm techniques Alice taught him, but even the most obscure and abstruse advanced mathematics—if placed before Kevin—he could grasp and master with ease.

Thus, he could replicate in a short time all the knowledge and skills the instructor had for that weapon, even tracing her related tactical movement experience from the tremor of her muscles.

Of course, this godlike thinking ability, while extremely overpowered, also came with considerable limitations.

First, this Stellar-class Celestial Computer operating mode could currently only be driven by the host's bio-energy, placing immense strain on the body and unable to sustain for long.

Second, even the best CPU was useless when faced with outdated vacuum-tube computers.

A mere mortal probably couldn't unleash even a trillionth of the Celestial Computer's capability.

But even that trillionth was more than enough for this outsider savior.

At this moment, Kevin gripped the Beretta M92 Alice had given him, using the surrounding trees as obstacles, firing as he retreated toward the roadside highway.

No matter what Umbrella Corporation was planning, the Tyrant—this special model—was different from mindless zombies. They were hounds trained by Umbrella.

So, if he could just reach the main road, they should hesitate. His chance to live lay there.

After all, the Biohazard Crisis hadn't truly erupted yet. Exposing these things to hundreds of thousands of citizens ahead of time clearly didn't serve their interests.

Driven by the will to survive, every nerve in Kevin's body was stretched taut. Though he had dodged at least seven attacks from the Tyrant.

But the pistol did negligible damage to it; the thing didn't even bother blocking bullets with its hand.

Beyond that, during the intense activity, Kevin's stamina plummeted. Every breath he took sent sharp pain through his chest.

And limited by his own base stats, many theoretically feasible evasive maneuvers he couldn't execute properly.

Because he only temporarily possessed similar skill experience in using firearms like Alice—aside from being unpracticed, it didn't mean his base stats had changed.

"Roar!" The Tyrant, relentlessly pursuing from behind, seemed enraged by the darting flea before it. It roared, tore off a bowl-thick fir tree, and swept it horizontally through the air.

Flying dirt and stones slammed into Kevin, sending pain like torn sinews through his body. But as the surrounding forest gradually thinned, veins bulging on his forehead, he gritted his teeth and persisted.

Almost there! The highway leading to Raccoon City! If he could just flag down a passing car, he'd survive.

At the end of the mountain range, the outline of the main road emerged. And under the thin night, the far-reaching beams of two headlights made Kevin ecstatic.

Kevin threw the empty Beretta M92 at the Tyrant, which had adjusted its angle to chase him again, then turned and sprinted desperately.

"Help! Stop!" Seeing the distant vehicle slow and approach, Kevin was overjoyed.

And the cute "RPD" lettering on the car made him want to rush up and give the hardworking Raccoon City police a warm hug.

I knew it! Heaven never seals off all exits! After all this bad luck, it's finally my turn!

The victim, about to escape death, screamed wildly in his mind.

But after only two steps forward, a sharp air burst rang in his ears, and Kevin's body stiffened.

He watched helplessly as the bowl-thick fir tree arced gracefully through the air, struck the car door precisely, and slammed the slowing police cruiser into the guardrail.

The piercing siren, the sharp crack of shattered glass—together they dragged someone's mood from heaven to hell.

"Damn it!" Kevin, his will broken, went limp all over. Panting heavily, he leaned against a fir trunk and flipped off the persistent, ashen-skinned bald creep with a rolled eye.

Exhausted and collapsing, Kevin was grabbed by the collar by a sinewy arm and pressed against the fir trunk.

Then the Tyrant leaned back, pulled its right arm in to gather strength, its ashen muscles bulging, its massive fist like a speeding battering ram.

Just as Kevin, biting his lower lip hard, had given up futile struggle and prepared to close his eyes and await death, a sharp screech came from the road bend. Blinding light turned the surroundings bright as day.

Even the Tyrant instinctively raised its hand to shield its harshly stimulated eyes.

"Boom!" Then a heavy truck, charging from a side road, roared in, ramming the rampaging Tyrant, dragging it faster into the dense forest until the engine died. Only then did this sudden steel beast finally stall.

Amid the stench of burning flesh, a tall Asian woman in a yellow trench coat and deep red dress stepped gracefully out of the cab. She reached out, pulled up the unlucky guy thrown into the soft dirt, took off her black sunglasses, and retrieved a blue badge from her coat pocket. Her sexy lips curled slightly upward.

"FBI. This area is under control, kiddo."

"What a... coincidence... Auntie Wang..." Kevin shook the grass and dirt from his head, his mouth twitching hard.

Aunt...ie...? The stunning woman with her short black hair parted three-seven, a straight nose, and a long, slender neck froze at the address. Her delicate face stiffened, and the sunglasses in her hand nearly snapped in two.

Meanwhile, from the overturned police cruiser with its engine dead, a groggy moan of pain drifted out. The crumpled door was violently kicked open.

A young man with a blond buzz cut, handsome features, and wearing the standard RPD officer uniform crawled out, then promptly pulled free his companion—a girl with an orange-red ponytail who'd been trapped inside.

"Hi, I'm Leon Scott Kennedy, a rookie officer reporting for duty in Raccoon City. This is Claire Redfield, a civilian I helped on the road. Glad to see you two are okay."

The rookie officer, pulling along the slightly concussed girl, cheerfully offered congratulations to someone who'd just survived a brush with death.

Huh, so this is the guy they call the Vehicle Killer. No wonder he rolled the car.

Alright, none of that matters. The real point is, you two were supposed to show up after the Biohazard Crisis broke out. Why are you mixed up together and here early?

"So, what attacked you just now? A beast from the Acre Mountains? Raccoon City's been pretty unstable lately. If it weren't for the panic caused by those Mexican drug dealers during the day, I'd probably have skipped work and taken a few more leisurely days on the road."

This rookie officer, rambling to himself, didn't notice the awkward tension between Kevin and a certain FBI agent at all. He hoped casual chatter would calm the victims down.

It wasn't until Claire, sensing something off in the atmosphere, tugged at Leon's sleeve that the rookie, about to head in for duty, awkwardly stopped his chatter.

A beast? These tracks don't seem right.

As a college student from another city searching for her brother, Claire had heard about Raccoon City's recent lockdown. Worried for his safety, she'd pushed her motorcycle to top speed on the road.

Unfortunately, the bike broke down halfway. Luckily, she ran into the same rookie officer heading to Raccoon City to report for duty, and hitched a ride.

She had a good impression of this warm-hearted officer. After the earlier scare, and with a woman's intuition, Claire didn't want Leon to get too involved in this situation, which reeked of strangeness.

What a pain this job is! Ada Wong watched the farce before her with growing impatience.

Just as she was about to pull out her FBI badge to shut up and drive away the onlookers as usual, Kevin, leaning against a tree trunk like a dead fish and gasping for air, suddenly had his pupils contract.

He lunged forward like a tiger, catching the FBI agent off guard and pinning her to the ground, while shouting at the clueless rookie and the searching college student: "Get down!"

"Boom!" With a strange tearing sound of fabric, a truck weighing nearly 40 tons was hurled through the air, whistling over the four of them before crashing to the ground and kicking up a cloud of dust.

"Thump! Thump! Thump!" At the same time, heavy, oppressive footsteps echoed in everyone's ears.

The terrifying figure, now freed from its green military coat, had muscles bulging and blades extending twenty centimeters from its hands. Wherever it swept, trees along the way were sliced clean through.

Name: Tyrant T-103 (Complete Form)

Affiliation: Virus Strain

Rank: C+ (65-70)

Affiliation: Umbrella Corporation's cutting-edge bioweapon created from the T-Virus

Strength: 20

Constitution: 20 (Basically immune to bullets below 12.7mm caliber)

Agility: 16 (Excellent body coordination, quick reflexes)

Intelligence: 3 (Can execute simple commands)

Perception: 9 (Gains dynamic capture effect)

Overall Stats: 68

The data scanned by the Eye of Wisdom was so strong it was almost despair-inducing.

Holy crap! Not only did this thing not die! It even mutated! You guys must be the ones secretly giving it a buff, you jinxes!

Kevin stared at the three illegitimate children of fate before him, his heart utterly shattered.

Chapter 8: Unexpected "Harvest" (First eight chapters done!)

When people get nervous, they instinctively grab something. That's common sense, right?

So, as Kevin's heart pounded wildly, his hands tightened. The soft, full sensation in his palms did calm his nerves a bit.

With a harsh intake of breath, Ada Wong's expression twisted, her gaze icy: "Had enough groping? Take your hands off!"

Kevin gave an awkward smile, reluctantly prying his claws away from the two plump mounds. A thought flashed through his mind: Probably... D-cup?

After this little self-adjustment, Kevin's panic subsided somewhat.

He wasn't some battle-hardened soldier. The encounter was a coincidence, and the brief distraction that followed was just his way of coping.

Bastard! Ada Wong noticed the guy who'd rolled to his feet and hidden behind a tree, smiling at her awkwardly but politely.

The veins on her forehead bulged. She had the urge to just kill him on the spot.

But the sharp whistle of air being cut by her ear forced Ada Wong to focus on the immediate crisis. She leaped, executing a standard tactical evasion.

As she twisted midair, she drew the pure black HS2000 from her waist and fired on the fly.

"Bang! Bang! Bang!" Three specially made Steel Core bullets streaked toward the Tyrant's eyes and throat at tricky angles.

Unexpectedly, the massive bioweapon, with incredible agility, swung its claws and intercepted every single bullet.

"Boom!" The rookie officer, Leon, with nerves of steel, dodged the Tyrant's blade slash and immediately grabbed a Remington shotgun from the front seat of the police cruiser.

He then aimed at the bioweapon's leg tendons and fired a heavy shot, cursing as he did so.

At the same time, he handed his police-issue M19911 to Claire, who was taking cover nearby.

The girl's textbook hair-pressing technique as she aimed made Kevin, lying "dead" behind a tree trunk, realize what true "American gun culture" looked like.

In a flash, the Tyrant, caught in a three-way assault, actually stumbled.

Especially that formidable Remington and Auntie Wang's treacherous Steel Core, which gave the Tyrant some trouble.

But as bullets kept sparking off the Tyrant's slashing Steel Claws, they never inflicted any real damage.

The three finally realized something was wrong. When the Tyrant clearly wound up for a counterattack, they scattered at once, each diving for the nearest cover.

BANG! A fir tree as thick as a man's embrace was cleaved in half by a sweeping claw.

Leon, picking himself up off the ground, witnessed the wreckage of his former hiding spot and Could Not Help But pat his chest, marveling at his own luck.

But before he could savor it long, Claire, worried about the rookie cop's safety, leaped out from behind the rock where she'd taken cover.

She fired several shots into the Back of the Tyrant's head, drawing the attention of this bioweapon to buy Leon time to escape the danger zone.

But the bullets only sent a shower of sparks off the Tyrant's grayish skull, and even provoked a backhanded claw swipe in return.

Claire barely managed to sidestep and drop into a diving dodge, but the rock beside her was instantly sliced into six chunks, the rubble nearly burying the girl searching for her family.

"Hey, sweetheart, look here!" Ada Wong strolled out from behind another tree stump, gun in her right hand.

With a soft shout, the female agent lowered her head, pulled the black pin from a flashbang with her teeth, then hurled it with her left hand and began retreating toward a certain direction.

Caught off guard, the Tyrant, blinded by the white flash, roared with closed eyes, swinging its claws wildly in all directions and chasing the sound of gunfire.

By now, Kevin, weak and sore from exhaustion, forced himself to his feet. Watching the Vixen smirk and wink at him, with the roaring Tyrant charging behind her, he cursed and jumped out of the bushes.

Women—they really hold a grudge!

As its vision gradually returned, the Tyrant lunged forward, its 20-centimeter claws crossing like the Grim Reaper's scythe slicing through space.

Kevin, his stamina plummeting, could no longer make effective evasive moves. He could only struggle back in retreat, narrowly escaping danger at every turn.

At that moment, the Vixen, wearing a mocking grin, waved goodbye and pulled a Rope Gun from behind her waist, securing the hook to a tree trunk on her left.

In an instant, Ada Wong felt her legs suddenly clamped tight.