Chapter 90: Four Dimensional Attributes Skyrocket!
Umbrella Corporation, North American Headquarters — Raccoon City
The cloned Dr. Isaacs didn't hold much authority within Umbrella's chain of command. Back in the original Resident Evil timeline, the cloned Dr. Isaacs had answered to Wesker — so he certainly wasn't about to push back against Marcus Foster, whose clearance and standing within the organization sat well above even Wesker's.
Half a month later, the cloned Dr. Isaacs finished what Marcus had ordered: a genetically fine-tuned variant of the T-virus, engineered specifically around Marcus's own DNA.
"Mr. Foster, I strongly advise against self-administering the T-virus," the cloned Dr. Isaacs said, his tone unusually earnest. It wasn't concern born out of any genuine warmth — Isaacs simply didn't want an accident derailing the experiment and gutting his research budget. "The T-virus agent is genuinely lethal. My recommendation is that we culture a clone first, use it to gauge the risk level, and only move forward once we've confirmed the danger is manageable."
Marcus didn't acknowledge the warning directly. Instead, he turned toward the monitor on the wall. "White Queen — has this T-virus batch cleared the simulation runs?"
The White Queen's voice came through cleanly, warm and measured, like a calm flight attendant reading from a safety card. "Mr. Foster, I participated in every stage of Dr. Isaacs's work. The T-virus variant calibrated to your genetic profile has passed all simulation trials. However, we cannot guarantee it will achieve the same perfect-compatibility result seen with Alice."
Marcus glanced back at the cloned Dr. Isaacs. "Simulations passed. I think we're good."
There wasn't much the cloned Dr. Isaacs could say to that.
"Alright. If Mr. Foster insists on proceeding, I'll have a full stockpile of T-virus antidote standing by. The moment you show any sign of rejection, I administer it immediately." Dr. Isaacs exhaled slowly. "That's the best I can offer."
"Works for me," Marcus said.
"Right this way, Mr. Foster." The cloned Dr. Isaacs led Marcus into a reinforced laboratory encased in military-grade bulletproof glass — the kind of room that looked like it was built to contain whatever went wrong inside it.
Following Isaacs's instructions, Marcus lay back on the medical bed. His wrists and ankles were secured with heavy-duty nylon restraints — standard protocol when dealing with T-virus trials. A severe rejection reaction could turn unpredictable fast, and Isaacs needed to be able to move freely to administer the antidote.
Dr. Isaacs made one last attempt. "Mr. Foster. Please. Let us run the clone first. Just to eliminate the risk variables."
Marcus cut him off. "Enough. I trust your work, Doc. Don't make me regret saying that."
Dr. Isaacs gave a firm nod. "Understood. Administering the genetically calibrated T-virus now."
"Do it," Marcus said.
Dr. Isaacs exhaled — a quiet, resigned sound — then lifted the syringe. The T-virus inside shimmered a pale, ice-blue color. He found the vein in Marcus's forearm and pushed the plunger. The moment he withdrew the needle, he reached for the pale green antidote and held it ready.
Any sign of trouble, and he'd inject it without hesitation.
The moment the T-virus entered Marcus's bloodstream, it didn't feel cold the way the refrigerated compound should have. It felt like molten metal pouring through his veins — a deep, radiating burn spreading outward from his arm and through his chest.
Marcus's brow furrowed. "I'm getting a burning sensation. Like something's on fire inside me. That normal?"
"Yes," the cloned Dr. Isaacs confirmed. "The T-virus is bonding with your genetic structure, reinforcing and rebuilding the gene chain. The process is... uncomfortable. If it becomes unbearable, tell me immediately."
"Copy that," Marcus replied.
System — we good here? Marcus checked in mentally with the Transcendence System.
Confirmed, Host. One hundred percent. No complications. The System paused briefly. However — you need to hold on through the pain.
What happens if I don't? Marcus thought back. Am I looking at a worst-case scenario here?
Negative. You won't die. But if the Host breaks under the pressure, the T-virus's psychic-activation function will be significantly diminished.
Marcus let out a slow internal breath. The Transcendence System had its shortcomings — no starter pack, no instant power-level boost, nothing flashy. But it also never threw a forced task at him with a countdown timer and a death penalty attached. It was a support system, plain and simple. How he used it was always his call.
That, at least, was something.
Wave after wave of pain rolled through him. Cold sweat broke across his forehead, and the color drained out of his face.
"Mr. Foster." Dr. Isaacs's voice was tight. "Talk to me."
"I'm fine." Marcus's voice had gone rough, scraped raw.
Dr. Isaacs studied the monitoring display. Vital signs stable across the board. He allowed himself a small measure of relief — though he kept the antidote syringe in hand and his eyes on the readouts.
Then Marcus made a sound — a short, sharp grunt of pain.
Dr. Isaacs snapped his eyes to the monitors. The mental-state readings were spiking erratically. He hesitated for half a second, then moved toward Marcus with the antidote raised.
"Wait." Marcus's hand strained against the restraint. "Stand down. I don't need it."
"But the readings—"
"No buts." Marcus's voice rose, rough and sharp as gravel. "Those are orders, Dr. Isaacs."
The cloned Dr. Isaacs stepped back. The White Queen had full surveillance on this room — if something did go sideways, there'd be a clear record that Marcus had refused the antidote. Isaacs had done his due diligence. Whatever happened next was on the man strapped to the table.
Marcus turned inward. Pull up my four-dimensional data. Now.
The Transcendence System responded instantly, overlaying the readout directly in his mind's eye:
HOST: MARCUS FOSTER
Strength: 23
Agility: 23
Constitution: 26
Spirit: 30
Marcus ran through the numbers. Before the T-virus injection, his strength and agility had both sat at 8. Constitution had been 9. Now every physical stat had blown past 20.
His Spirit attribute — already elevated at 23 before the procedure — had hit 30. The hard ceiling for baseline human potential.
One point. He was sitting exactly one point away from crossing out of the mortal threshold entirely.
[System Notification]
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