In the photo, the frog was standing at the front. Behind it stood a sexy, blonde, blue-eyed woman holding a submachine gun. Behind them were billowing smoke and a mountain of corpses.
"This is the world of Resident Evil! That woman is the protagonist, Alice! And those things behind them are zombies!"
Based on the information from the photo, Alan immediately recognized the world his frog was currently in.
Resident Evil was a world filled with endless dangers where zombies roamed freely. If anyone got scratched by one of those monsters, they would be infected with the T-virus and eventually turn into a zombie themselves.
Damn! If that clumsy frog got infected, wouldn't it turn into a zombie frog when it returned to the game?
"System, my frog won't get infected with the T-virus, right?" Alan anxiously asked.
The game interface quickly displayed a prompt:
"The frog may get injured during its travels across the multiverse, but it won't get infected by any viruses nor suffer any lethal damage. If it sustains a fatal injury, it will be immediately transported back to the game for healing. Once it has fully recovered, or its injury has healed to a certain extent, it will resume its travels."
"So, please make sure to prepare your frog properly before each journey."
After reading the message, Alan sighed with relief. Thank goodness.
At the same time, Alan made a mental note that when the frog returned, he would need to equip it better next time.
After all, the worlds across the multiverse were filled with countless dangers. If his frog were to be seriously injured in one of them, Alan would be devastated.
The taxi drove quickly, and it wasn't long before they arrived at Gwen's house. Gwen opened the car door, stepped out, and turned to Alan with a smile. "Bye-bye. I had a great time today."
"Next time, I want to try some of that Asian cuisine you make."
Alan nodded. "Of course."
The night was a bit chilly, so Gwen tightened her coat and headed home. Alan then turned to the taxi driver and said, "Take me home, please."
At that moment, George opened the door and saw Gwen coming in from outside. His sharp eyes also caught a glimpse of the figure seated in the back of the taxi.
Though the lighting wasn't great and he couldn't make out the person's face, his years of experience as a detective told him that it was definitely the young man Gwen had greeted earlier that morning.
"Looks like you had a pleasant evening," George smiled as he watched Gwen walk towards him.
In truth, George wasn't against Gwen making friends, even male ones. It was just that, in the past, all the boys who had tried to get close to Gwen always had ulterior motives. Only that young man from the morning had left a good impression on George.
And now, seeing that he had taken the effort to make sure his beloved daughter got home safely, George's opinion of Alan improved even more.
After all, the nights in New York weren't exactly the safest.
"Seems like you had some free time today, Dad, coming home this early," Gwen teased.
George sighed and said, "Not really. You probably saw it on the news—Stark Industries' golden boy has gone missing."
"Isn't he missing in the Middle East? You're the chief of police in New York. What does that have to do with you?" Gwen asked as they entered the house together.
"Those damn rich people," George muttered. "Whenever something happens to them, it turns the whole city upside down."
"Almost every reporter in the country is camped outside Stark Industries today. Maintaining order there is way more exhausting than chasing down criminals."
Gwen nodded in understanding. Suddenly, she remembered that Alan had seemed particularly interested in this matter earlier in the afternoon.
It really was one of those things—when it involved the rich and powerful, it caught everyone's attention.
Inside the taxi, Alan was on his phone, continuing to browse through information about New York City. He was curious to see how this world differed from the Marvel universe he knew so well.
Although there was limited information available online, Alan was still able to analyze and glean a lot from the data he found.
For instance, in this version of New York City, there were three major financial powerhouses. The first was Stark Industries, which had built its fortune through the military-industrial complex, with Tony Stark at the helm. The second was Oscorp Industries, a corporation focused on life sciences, led by Norman Osborn.
The third—and perhaps the most interesting—was Wilson Grant Fisk, the undisputed king of New York's underground.
He controlled all the black-market industries and illegal dealings in the city. On the surface, Fisk presented himself as a legitimate business investor, active in high society.
However, beneath that polished image lay New York's darkest underbelly, all controlled by him. In the streets, everyone knew him better by his alias: Kingpin.
For Alan, however, this information wasn't all that important. He was only gathering details to better understand this world.
While Alan was scrolling through this information on his phone, the taxi suddenly screeched to a halt. The abrupt stop threw him forward, nearly sending his phone flying out of his hand.
"What's going on?" Alan asked.
"Sir, I don't think I can take you to your destination," the taxi driver said, his voice trembling slightly. "I think we should turn back immediately."
Alan frowned and glanced ahead through the divider. He saw seven or eight thugs in black leather jackets blocking the road with motorcycles. They wielded various weapons and had strange graffiti covering their clothes and skin.
This was blatant highway robbery. No wonder the taxi driver was so terrified.
The road they were on was the only route to District 13, and it seemed clear that these thugs were waiting to ambush anyone wealthy enough to be passing through.
Alan chuckled lightly, pulling out some cash from his pocket and handing it to the driver. "You can drop me off here. My home isn't far ahead. Taking a detour would be too much of a hassle."
After paying the fare, Alan stepped out of the car.
The taxi driver looked at the young man, surprised that someone would be this fearless.
But without hesitation, the driver hit the gas, spun the wheel, and performed a perfect drift to make a quick getaway. Alan couldn't help but twitch at the sight.
Well, damn. Seems like fear can really turn someone into a racecar driver. He had underestimated this taxi driver.
The gang of thugs began slowly advancing toward Alan, paying no attention to the fleeing cab.
Their target had always been the passenger in the backseat. What kind of money would a taxi driver have anyway? At this hour, anyone passing through here on their way to District 13 had to be someone rich.
As the thugs approached, their hostility was clear. Alan raised a hand and said calmly, "I really hate dealing with trouble. But if you're asking for death, that's a different story."
With that, the game interface in his mind opened up.
...