Weapon System in Zombie Apocalypse

The convoy arrived at dawn.

Twelve Overwatch JLTVs rolled in from the southern ridge, followed by a fleet of armored construction trucks, bulldozers, and supply carriers. Above them, cargo drones buzzed low like worker bees, towing suspended crates of steel plates, modular shelters, and food canisters. The sun glinted off their hulls as they soared past the edge of the former blast radius.

Calamba City no longer stank of rot. The Bloom was gone, and in its place was a scorched landscape of ghostly silence. Tower skeletons still stood, windows gone, facades melted from nuclear heat. Blackened cars littered the streets like burnt bones. But the roads were clear of flesh. No movement. No screams. No nest matter.

Just dust, ash, and silence.

But for Thomas, it was the perfect blank slate.

"Bring out the drones," he ordered over comms.

From their trailers, six-foot-long terraforming drones unfolded and lifted into the air. Their nozzles released controlled mists of potassium hydroxide to neutralize surface radiation hotspots. Others used bristle rollers to sweep aside irradiated debris, loading it into containment bins lined with lead polymer. Automated dosimeters tracked every square meter cleared, rendering the area safe for human boots.

Marcus approached beside him, wearing a newly issued gray Overwatch engineering vest.

"Four rad pockets along the northeast quadrant. Minor. Nothing above 0.7 microsieverts per hour. Keplar says we can live with that."

Thomas nodded. "We'll deploy heavy shielding on those structures and fence them off. Focus crews on the commercial plaza and old government building."

Phillip walked up with a tablet. "Modules one through four are ready for deployment. Clinic, shelter dome, power relay, and comms tower."

Thomas swiped through the interface and selected landing coordinates.

Within moments, skyhooks descended from the lead transport aircraft, lowering the first dome shelter into the city square. It touched down with a low thud—white, prefab alloy frame, insulated walls, eight bunks, solar strips mounted overhead.

Then the others followed.

Clinic pods with fold-out beds and sterilization units. Power relays that hooked into buried geothermal vents. Comms towers that reconnected Calamba to Overwatch's grid. The modules were sterile, functional, and unglamorous—but they worked.

And more importantly, they gave people hope.

13 Days Since First Strike — Clark N-Zone

Thomas arrived by drone shuttle to inspect progress in the Central Luzon reclamation zone.

Clark had once been an international airport and airbase. The skeleton of Terminal 2 still stood, its roof half-collapsed, glass windows melted into warped puddles. Bloom had turned the old tarmac into a feeding ground months ago.

Now, that same tarmac hosted construction yards.

Steel pillars were being anchored into the concrete. Power cables were run underground. Massive water tanks were installed by crane. A civilian repop team was already present—doctors, teachers, and volunteers eager to return to land that once belonged to them.

"They're rebuilding the school first," the project manager explained. "Old one collapsed. So we're using the hybrid shelter units—comms, cooling, solar—converted into classrooms."

Thomas watched from a distance as children helped unload crates of books. Laughing. Running through ash.

He nodded. "Send them another generator. And boost their medical supplies. I want that school to have the best clinic on-site. Kids get priority."

14 Days Since First Strike — San Fernando

San Fernando's streets were wider than most cities—once designed for suburban flow. Now, they made perfect staging zones for convoys. Dozens of Overwatch logistics trucks arrived that morning, carrying concrete mixers, steel rebar, mobile command containers, and armored earthmovers.

A skeletal church lay at the heart of the zone—half-melted from the W76-2's blast. Thomas ordered it reinforced rather than demolished.

"We preserve what remains," he told the team. "People need to see continuity."

Keplar arrived via drone VTOL and stepped out in a modified environmental suit.

"Radiation levels here are lower than expected. You've got clearance to start permanent housing development."

"Good," Thomas replied. "We'll trial our first hybrid-residency blocks here. One hundred units. Modular. Stackable. Bulletproof. Each with their own waste recycling system and solar panel array."

Marcus handed him the construction schematics. "Timeline?"

"Seventeen days to get the first 20 units up. Forty if we want a full neighborhood."

Thomas nodded. "We'll do it in twelve."

He turned to the crews.

"We're not building camps. We're building cities. Homes. Streets. Parks. Let the survivors see more than just tents."

One of the workers shouted from above a scaffold. "What do we call this one, sir?"

Thomas looked up.

"Fort Renewal."

15 Days Since First Strike — Lucena

Lucena had been one of the worst nests.

But now, it was a miracle.

The air was clean. The Bloom had burned away, never regrowing. The city's proximity to the sea gave it favorable winds, sweeping away radiation within days. Drones confirmed the zone was safer than most open fields outside the N-Zones.

So Thomas made a decision.

"Lucena becomes our first full-spectrum reclamation site. Not just housing or clinics—but markets, trade centers, courthouses. A new city-state."

Phillip blinked. "You're serious?"

Thomas smiled faintly. "I'm always serious."

He stood at the base of a makeshift podium erected on the old city plaza.

Civilians—more than five hundred of them—gathered. Refugees from Overwatch and nearby camps. All of them had been screened, cleared, and were willing to return.

Thomas raised a hand.

"This is the first of many," he said. "Cities once consumed by monsters, now cleansed by fire and reclaimed by the living. We are not ghosts. We are not fugitives. We are human. And we take our home back."

The people clapped.

Some cried.

Others looked around in disbelief. To them, it was surreal.

To Thomas, it was only the beginning.

16 Days Since First Strike — MOA Complex

Back in the heart of Overwatch, the Command Deck had changed. Monitors now showed not just red threat zones, but green dots—reclamation sites. Cities once marked "Lost" were being reclassified.

Clark – Status: Stabilizing

Calamba – Status: Partial Restoration

San Fernando – Status: Rehousing

Lucena – Status: Urban Development Initiated

Dr. Keplar stood beside Thomas, arms crossed.

"You've done what a dozen old-world presidents could never accomplish with armies."

Thomas didn't reply.

Instead, he opened the system screen.

[Unlocked Roles: Nuclear Advisor, Engineering Officer, City Planner]

[New Role Available: Chief Architect (Urban Design and Social Stability)]

[Unlock Cost: 75,000 Blood Coins]

[Accept? Y/N]

He accepted.

Another blue light shimmered into being.

This time, a woman materialized—tall, dark-skinned, hair in a tight bun, wearing a smart formal uniform. She looked around with a sharp gaze.

"Dr. Evelyn Sato. Architect. Planner. You summoned me?"

Thomas nodded. "Welcome to the end of the world."

She smiled tightly. "I prefer to think of it as the beginning of a new one."

Thomas pointed to the map.

"I need cities. Not just shelters. Cities with water, order, culture. Cities that remind people we haven't lost everything."

Sato folded her arms. "Then we'll do it by the blueprint. Transit grids, decentralized power, vertical farming, civil centers. Everything from scratch."

Keplar smirked. "I like her already."

Thomas stepped back.

And for the first time in weeks, he didn't issue a command.

He simply watched.

As engineers, planners, and civilians began rebuilding a world where the dead had ruled.

Now, the living returned.

And the cities would rise.