It was late at night.
The whole city lay in silence—only stray dogs rummaged through heaps of garbage in narrow alleys, searching for food.
And then, without warning, a sudden whirlwind howled through the streets.
"Woof! Woof, woof!!"
The stray dogs froze mid-sniff, their ears twitching. They turned toward the source of the wind, growling lowly—then bolted. At that same moment, arcs of electricity flared in the air, crackling down to the ground and outlining a tall, broad, muscular human form.
Moments later, Duanmu Huai slowly opened his eyes and stood up.
"I WILL BE BACK…"
"—Shit, why is it so damn cold!?"
He froze as a chill crept up from below. Glancing down, his expression darkened instantly.
You've got to be kidding me—not even underwear?
At least in the game, the player character appeared wearing boxers when they spawned! Oh, right—guess that was just to pass content review. So now that we're in reality, you don't even bother pretending, huh?
"Goddamn it!"
He cursed under his breath. What now? Was he supposed to walk down the street bare-ass naked? Wouldn't someone call the cops!?
As if on cue, a bright beam of light swept over his face.
"Police! Hands up!"
"…"
Called it.
Two terrified police officers stood not far away, guns trembling in their hands, staring at the towering, naked giant before them. Duanmu Huai sighed and obediently raised his hands.
"Name, occupation, and age?"
He stared at the questioning officer, utterly expressionless.
Soon after, the two patrolmen hauled him to the station. Their patrol car couldn't even fit him—they had to call for a prison transport truck just to cram him inside.
And that's how he ended up here—in an interrogation room, being questioned like a suspect.
"Damn… this is what happens when you've got a Charisma stat of 1," Duanmu Huai thought gloomily. "Back when my female character crossed into this world, everyone adored her. Even the Tyrant could be talked into regaining self-awareness and fighting against Umbrella! But when my real body shows up—straight to jail."
Oh well. He was used to it. Back home, just walking down the street was enough to get someone calling the cops on him.
He gave the officers a half-truth: he'd just arrived in the city, got drunk, passed out, and woke up naked with his clothes and ID missing.
If it were anyone else, they'd probably just let him go. But maybe because Duanmu Huai looked like a serial killer, the result was…
"All right, we're detaining you for 48 hours. Once we confirm your identity, you can leave."
Yep. Treated like a murder suspect.
Well, fine. Let them. Not like this place would stay peaceful for long anyway.
Inside the holding cell, Duanmu Huai looked down at the clothes they'd given him. Obviously, the cops weren't about to leave him naked—but finding something that fit his massive frame was a challenge. Fortunately, this was America, land of the plus-sized, so they found something close enough.
Now he wore a sleeveless vest that couldn't even button up, leaving his chiseled chest and abs fully exposed. The pants—biggest size available—were too short, barely reaching mid-calf.
He looked in the mirror.
"Great. I look like an Ogryn."
He flipped himself off in the reflection, then sat down against the wall with a sigh. Strictly speaking, no cell could actually hold him—but where else would he even go right now? Might as well sit tight and wait for trouble to come to him.
He closed his eyes to rest—until a very familiar sound echoed in the hallway.
"Uhh… urghh… grrr…"
Duanmu Huai opened his eyes. Two officers were dragging a man toward the cells. Except, it wasn't a man anymore—it was a zombie, staggering and snapping at them, jaws gnashing.
"Damn junkie," one officer muttered, shoving the creature forward. "When you sober up, I'll teach you a lesson!"
Apparently, the cops hadn't yet realized that these weren't drug addicts—they were infected. To be fair, in real life there were drugs that caused violent hallucinations, so their mistake was understandable.
The two officers shoved the prisoner toward another cell.
"Get in there!"
But as one officer reached out, the zombie lunged and bit down hard on his hand.
"AAAHHHHH!!"
The officer screamed in pain, falling backward as the zombie climbed on top of him and sank its teeth into his neck.
"Damn it! Let him go!"
The other cop panicked, grabbed the zombie, and pulled it away—then shoved it aside and drew his pistol, firing several rounds into it. The creature collapsed.
He immediately knelt beside his partner.
"Hang on, man! I'll get help! Damn it, I need to stop the bleeding—"
He fumbled for the radio, calling for backup, completely unaware that the "dead" zombie behind him was getting back up.
Duanmu Huai called out:
"Hey, officer! Behind you!"
"What? Behind—?"
The cop turned—just in time to see the zombie crawling toward him.
"Shit! I killed it already!"
He swung his gun around—but before he could fire, the bitten officer suddenly opened his eyes, grabbed him by the throat, yanked him down, and bit deep into his neck.
The zombie from before lunged forward too.
"AAAHHHHHHH!!!"
Duanmu Huai shook his head.
"Yeah… they're dead. Poor bastards."
The radio crackled:
"John? Come in! What's going on!? Damn it—"
Minutes later, a Black police officer rushed in. Seeing the carnage, his eyes went wide.
The three newly turned zombies staggered toward him. He fired quickly, dropping all three with precise shots.
"Goddamn it…"
The man muttered, breathing heavily. He was bleeding too—clutching his abdomen where blood soaked through his shirt. Whether it was a gunshot or a bite, Duanmu Huai couldn't tell.
After confirming the zombies were dead, the officer looked around—and froze when he saw the hulking man in one of the cells.
"I remember you… you're that drunk we brought in—the big guy."
"That's me."
Duanmu Huai nodded. The Black officer hesitated, then unlocked the cell.
"Come on. It's not safe here. The whole city's gone to hell… you saw it yourself. Everyone's turning into monsters."
Duanmu Huai nodded silently. Of course he'd seen. Honestly, if the T-Virus could exist in the real world, the Plague God would be delighted.
Technically, the Plague God's own pestilence was far worse. Those infected by Father Nurgle's blessings didn't just reanimate—they achieved a kind of twisted immortality, their bodies strengthened beyond human limits. The only downside? They looked like absolute abominations.
Compared to that, T-Virus zombies were beautiful.
As that one movie said: beauty needs contrast.
Sure, T-Virus zombies looked gross on their own—but line them up next to Nurgle's plague mutants, and suddenly they looked like models.
At least the zombies still vaguely resembled humans.
Nurgle's followers? Covered in boils, oozing slime, leaking pus, exhaling toxic gas—eyes bulging like flies, mouths crawling with roaches and maggots. Compared to them, T-Virus undead were practically elegant.
"All right, big guy, let's move. I'm Marvin Branagh."
"Duanmu Huai."
They exchanged names, then left the holding area together.
It was carnage.
As they walked, blood and bullet holes covered the walls. Corpses lay everywhere. Marvin explained what had happened—how right after Duanmu Huai's arrest, reports of attacks had flooded in. The police quickly realized this wasn't some drug-crazed rampage. They broadcast emergency messages, urging survivors to come to the station.
But by then, many officers who had already been bitten turned, spreading chaos throughout the building. Most of the force was wiped out. Only a handful survived—Marvin among them. He'd tried to rally the remaining officers, but… clearly, it hadn't gone well.
Along the way, Marvin offered Duanmu Huai a shotgun for protection.
Duanmu Huai declined, instead grabbing a sledgehammer from a maintenance kit. "Close-range works better on these things," he said. "And guns run out of bullets."
They reached the main hall of the police station.
Who would they meet next, he wondered?
In the game, this was the point where players could choose to follow Leon or Claire. He was curious how things would play out in reality.
(For the record, according to official stats, nearly all female players picked Leon, and male players picked Claire.)
"Help! Help me!!"
A woman's desperate scream echoed through the hall. Duanmu Huai and Marvin turned toward the sound.
A woman was crawling out from under a half-closed shutter door—while a zombie clutched her legs, trying to drag her back. She kicked and struggled, screaming for help.
"Go! Help her, big guy!"
Marvin, too injured to move, shouted. Duanmu Huai nodded, charged forward, grabbed the woman by her collar, and yanked her up.
Then he turned to face the zombie.
He raised his boot—
"SPLAT!"
—and crushed the creature's skull into pulp.
(End of Chapter)