The Pagani Utopia roared down the broken highway, zombie mush still drying in the air, my cosmic cleaning aura making sure the car looked like it just rolled off the showroom floor. Behind me, Jill Valentine was holding onto her seat for dear life, eyes wide, questioning every decision that led her to this moment.
I cracked my neck, smirking behind mirrored sunglasses. "Hotel rooftop, five-star suite, bubble bath the size of Lake Superior… we deserve it."
Jill frowned. "You do realize we're in the middle of the apocalypse, right? And you're thinking about bubble baths?"
"I can multitask," I replied, weaving through abandoned cars like a cosmic drift king.
Ahead, the skyline of Raccoon City shimmered under a red-tinged sky, the faint glow of fires and biohazard clouds swirling like bad CGI effects. But nestled atop one skyscraper, the Umbrella Grand Hotel still stood tall, untouched, as if mocking the chaos below.
My HUD pinged, floating in front of my vision:
Species: Unknown (Cosmic Concept)
[Daniel - Death 2.0 (Full Integration Mode)]
Mental Discipline: 23/100 — Still Trash, but improving. Less spontaneous head explosions.
Power Mastery: 12.00% — You're slightly less of a walking nuke.
Auto-Cleaning: Maximum — You sparkle like an immortal influencer.
Hostile Thought Trigger: On cooldown… for now.
Jill squinted at the glowing skyscraper. "That's… Umbrella's territory."
"Yep." I grinned, shifting gears. "Which means high-end bubble baths, overpriced minibar snacks, and probably half the cast of every Resident Evil fanfic ever written."
She paled. "Please tell me you're kidding."
I wasn't.
As we pulled into the hotel's underground parking lot, a swarm of chaos unfolded:
Leon Kennedy, sliding across the hood of his Jeep, dual-wielding pistols like an action movie reject.
Claire Redfield, shotgun in hand, arguing with Ada Wong, who was effortlessly stylish even during the end of days.
Chris Redfield, flexing biceps large enough to punch asteroids.
Even Ethan Winters, somehow still missing a few fingers but acting like it's a normal Tuesday.
And of course… Albert Wesker, sunglasses at night, probably monologuing about world domination like the drama queen he is.
Jill groaned. "Oh god, all of them are here?"
"Yup." I stepped out of the Pagani, dusting off invisible debris. "I figured if we're mixing fanfics, games, and movies, we might as well go full chaos."
The others turned as I approached, their expressions varying between confusion and outright panic.
Leon pointed. "Who the hell—?"
Before he could finish, his mind spat out the tiniest defensive thought: If he's a threat, I'll shoot him…
POP.
His gun evaporated into glittery confetti.
I held up my hands. "Easy there, rookie. Accidental thoughts still trigger the apocalypse, but I'm working on it."
My HUD pinged:
Hostile Thought Detected: 1 (Mild)
Total Fatalities: 0 — Just a melted weapon. Progress!
Mental Discipline: 23/100 — Slightly less catastrophic.
Power Mastery: 12.01% — Small wins count.
Auto-Cleaning: You shine brighter than Wesker's sunglasses.
Wesker stepped forward, smirking like he owned the building. "You… you're not from around here."
"Nope," I said, casually summoning a can of soda and sipping it. "Cosmic entity. Replacing the last Death. Still figuring out the controls."
Ada tilted her head. "And you're… here for the hotel?"
"Bubble bath. Rooftop suite. Might save the world if I feel like it."
Chris flexed unnecessarily. "We're fighting for survival, and you're thinking about spas?"
"I'm immortal." I shrugged. "Priorities."
Before anyone could argue, the building shook. The ground rumbled, and a deep, guttural roar echoed from above.
Nemesis. Tyrants. Lickers. Zombie hordes.
They were swarming the hotel, pouring in from every possible entrance.
The others geared up, ready for battle.
I just smirked.
"If they think about hurting me…" I trailed off, raising my hand.
POP. POP. POP.
Dozens of grotesque heads exploded in the distance, fountains of gore painting the parking lot. Jill winced but didn't even flinch this time. Progress.
Claire gaped. "Did you…?"
"Yeah. It's a thing." I adjusted my sunglasses. "They hate me, they die. It's pretty efficient."
Leon, still recovering from his melted pistol, muttered, "Remind me never to think hostile thoughts around you."
"Smart man." I winked.
We ascended to the rooftop, stepping through the chaos as undead bodies piled up behind us like bad level design.
At the top, the suite was untouched — luxury marble floors, velvet furniture, and the promised oversized bubble bath glistening under mood lighting.
I stripped off my blood-splattered jacket, tossing it aside. The others hesitated at the door, unsure whether to fight or relax.
"Come on," I called, sinking into the steaming bubbles, conjuring a glass of champagne with a snap. "You've never had a post-apocalyptic spa day?"
Wesker, shockingly, chuckled. "This… is ridiculous."
"Welcome to my life." I raised the glass. "Death 2.0. Less rules. More fun."
My HUD flashed again:
Mental Discipline: 23/100 — Minor improvements. Minimal accidental genocide.
Power Mastery: 12.02% — Bubble bath therapy works.
Auto-Cleaning: Maximum. Even the water sparkles.
Hostile Thought Trigger: Still dangerous. Please focus.
I lounged, the others reluctantly settling in, exhaustion overtaking paranoia.
Outside, the city burned. Inside, champagne flowed. Bubbles rose.
And for the first time since becoming Death 2.0… I actually relaxed.