“September 20, 1998…
Sheena Island.
I see.” Huo Xiu’s consciousness surfaced from chaos.
He had technically been aware before that, but he had not known where he was.
Then some man beside him had started rambling on and on, saying things so far beyond what any normal person should have to tolerate that Huo Xiu finally snapped and threw a punch with his dominant hand.
He had not expected his fist to go straight through the man.
Not that he felt particularly sorry about it.
None of the researchers here looked remotely upset over the dead man, which said quite a lot about how thoroughly disliked the guy must have been.
Huo Xiu was not offended by the guns pointed at him, either.
If a person who could punch straight through a human body suddenly appeared in front of him, he would probably be scared out of his mind too.
At the very least, the firearms told him one thing: he was definitely no longer back home.
There wouldn’t be guns like this back home.
Once he spoke, the researchers cautiously told him the date and location.
The familiar names struck Huo Xiu all at once, and he immediately understood where he was.
I’ve been transmigrated.
And not just anywhere—I’ve landed in Resident Evil before the main story even begins.
Sheena Island…
Umbrella’s Tyrant Plant.
So that blond guy I just killed was the lunatic Vincent Goldman?
Before transmigrating, Huo Xiu had never actually played Resident Evil Survivor, but he had watched enough videos and read enough material to know what kind of monster Vincent was.
Frankly, it was better that the man was dead.
If Vincent had been allowed to keep living, who knew how many more people would have suffered?
In a sense, Goldman was a eugenicist himself.
Perhaps that was exactly why Spencer had valued him.
A eugenicist, a perfectionist, and a social Darwinist—there was no death too ugly for a man like that.
Vivisecting teenagers and opening their skulls without anesthesia was already beyond anything a human being should be capable of.
With that thought, Huo Xiu gave Vincent two more blows for good measure.
“Uh…
could somebody get me some clothes?
Thanks.” Huo Xiu looked down at his Smurf-blue skin and the enormous claws on his right hand—the same claws that had just punched through Vincent—and there was no longer any question about what he had become.
The Hypnos-T Type: Sheena Island’s ultimate creation, the strongest Tyrant in close combat, and the final boss of Resident Evil Survivor.
Is this fate pulling things back into place?
Vincent was supposed to die at the Hypnos Tyrant’s hands anyway.
All Huo Xiu had done was move the date forward.
Fine by him.
Two fewer months alive meant two fewer months for that psychopath to ruin the lives of kidnapped teenagers.
More importantly, the Raccoon City Incident had not happened yet.
There was no way Huo Xiu was going to sit this one out.
If he worked hard enough, maybe Raccoon City would not have to be wiped off the map.
He was a transmigrator with foreknowledge of the plot and the strength of a Tyrant.
Knowing what was coming, he might be able to accelerate developments that had originally taken much longer—vaccines, antibodies, anything that could help I still have time.
First, though, he needed clothes.
The Hypnos Tyrant was one of the rare Tyrants shameless enough to make its debut completely naked.
Even Thanatos got a pair of shorts.
Huo Xiu was absolutely not walking around like this.
A proper outfit was the bare minimum.
And he needed something for his head.
The bald look was far too conspicuous.
What am I supposed to say if somebody asks why a guy my age has already lost all his hair?
Umbrella had supposedly developed hair-growth products before, so he could try one later.
Staying bald forever was not exactly appealing.
As for his name, he might as well adapt it for the West.
The Hypnos Tyrant was also known as Hypnos; combining that with his own surname, he settled on “Hyp Hoffman” when dealing with outsiders.
This was not his original body anyway.
His real body was already dead, and he had transmigrated into this world on top of that.
Fortunately, the researchers brought him clothes before long.
They had modified a T-103’s standard issue to fit him.
The outfit was loose, but wearable, and it even came with a hat that conveniently hid his blue bald head.
The fastenings were reassuringly sturdy.
Someone had even found him a pair of sunglasses.
Huo Xiu checked the combination and had to admit it worked surprisingly well.
At the same time, he discovered that he could consciously control his mutations—or perhaps “evolution” was the better word.
If he pushed his body toward combat, it shifted closer to the Hypnos Tyrant’s third form.
If he prioritized a more human appearance, it resembled the first form.
A compromise between the two produced something close to the second.
It was incredibly convenient, though it made sense.
The original Hypnos Tyrant had only ever evolved in the direction of greater combat capability.
It had never needed to hide inside human society, so there had been no reason for it to reverse course.
Huo Xiu, however, could trigger mutations deliberately while his life was not under threat.
That should give him much finer and more precise control than the original creature had possessed.
The staff also trimmed the massive claws on his right hand until both hands looked normal.
Huo Xiu could feel that, if he wished, he could regenerate those claws at any time, much like the T-078 Tyrant.
That could wait until he actually needed them in a fight.
His coat had pockets, so he could carry the cut claw material with him.
As for weapons, a handgun would be enough.
Once he reached Raccoon City, he could stop by Kendo Gun Shop and buy one; their weapons were genuinely excellent.
The researchers also prepared identification for him.
At this point, they desperately wanted Huo Xiu off the island so they could submit the evidence they had gathered against Vincent, report the commander’s death to the board, and request a replacement.
Naturally, the official cause of death would be listed as “test subject rampage.” Accidents involving Tyrants were hardly unheard of.
Soon afterward, Huo Xiu boarded the helicopter the researchers had arranged for him.
Once they learned where he wanted to go, they were more than happy to send him on his way.
Sacrificing the entire island just to destroy one escaped specimen would have been absurdly wasteful.
Besides, the Hypnos Tyrant had not attacked them.
That fact filled the researchers with a strange, almost intoxicating pride.
They had not merely created a B.O.W.; they had created an entirely new sapient life-form.
A power once reserved for gods had been realized through their own hands.
They wanted to see how far this self-aware Tyrant could go.
The fact that he had killed Vincent also earned him considerable goodwill from most of the staff.
Vincent’s remaining loyalists, meanwhile, knew better than to protest.
Anyone who stepped forward now would have to survive both an angry Tyrant and the hatred of their fellow researchers.
Once the helicopter lifted off toward Paris, the Sheena Island staff immediately organized their research records, the Hypnos Project files, and all the evidence they had gathered against Vincent, then contacted Headquarters.
Huo Xiu, meanwhile, would first be flown to Umbrella Europe’s Sixth Laboratory in Paris, the nearest major Umbrella facility to Sheena Island, before transferring to a flight bound for Raccoon City.
At Umbrella’s French headquarters in Paris, the report from Sheena Island triggered an immediate video conference between several branches of the corporation.
No one expressed much sympathy over Vincent’s death; as far as they were concerned, he had brought it on himself.
A rampaging B.O.W.?
That hardly mattered.
Sheena Island had U.S.S.
and U.B.C.S.
units on-site.
Even a rogue Tyrant could be destroyed without too much difficulty.
One out-of-control B.O.W.
was not going to overturn the entire island.
And escape?
Sheena was only so large.
Where could it possibly go?
The Hypnos Project itself, however, was interesting.
A pity Vincent had died before he could present it properly.
Replacing an island commander was a serious matter, though, and the decision would still have to be reported to Spencer.
Vincent had not even survived a full month in the position, useless fool that he was, but very few people possessed both the qualifications and the standing to replace him.
Luis Serra at the Paris laboratory had no leadership talent.
Ryan Howard at Umbrella’s European headquarters in Geneva lacked seniority.
John Clemens of the Arklay Laboratory might have been a viable choice, but he had died during the biohazard in the Arklay Mountains two months earlier.
After going through the possibilities, only one deeply irritating man seemed suitable.
“But didn’t we just fire him?
If we transfer him now, will he really accept?” “Relax.
He’s an arrogant man.
He knows how important Sheena Island is to us.
He’ll convince himself this is compensation—that we’re backing down and admitting we need him.
He’ll invent a perfectly reasonable explanation on his own.
Right now, our priority is recovering Dr.
Birkin’s G-Virus samples as quickly as possible.
Whatever happens, we cannot allow them to fall into the hands of the U.S.
military.” “Then it’s settled.
He gets the job.” The meeting ended.
The screens went dark, leaving behind a single approved resolution.
“Morpheus D.
Duvall is hereby nominated as commander of Umbrella’s Sheena Island Research Facility.”