Weapon System in Zombie Apocalypse

23 Days Since First Strike — Central Command, MOA Complex

The command center hummed with a quiet intensity. Gone were the frantic alarms and emergency dispatches that once defined Overwatch's heartbeat. Now, every blinking light on the main board represented forward movement—zones turning from red to yellow, then to green. Lucena was becoming a model. Clark had become a rail and logistics hub. Fort Renewal was expanding. And Thomas knew what came next.

Expansion.

But not just on land.

"Pull up aerial scans of Visayas and Mindanao," Thomas ordered.

The main screen flickered. Satellite overlays and drone feeds lit up with static points. Most major cities were still blacked out—no power, no communication. Davao, Cebu, Iloilo, and Tacloban remained dormant. But faint signals flickered near Tagbilaran and Dumaguete. A few heat signatures. Vehicle movement. Handheld radios broadcasting on old municipal bands.

Thomas leaned forward. "They're alive out there."

"Barely," Keplar replied, arms crossed. "And whatever's out there… they're isolated. If they've survived this long without help, they're either hardened or on the verge of collapse."

Phillip entered, soaked from field drills. "Evac teams are ready. Give us the flight paths, we'll do the rest."

Thomas nodded, his mind already racing through deployment schedules. "Then we start Operation Bridgefall."

Sato looked up from her desk. "Another military name?"

He smirked. "Not this time. It's not about war anymore. We're bridging islands. We're going to reclaim the whole archipelago."

24 Days Since First Strike — Aboard Valkyrie One (Modified KC-135 Stratotanker)

The massive aerial recon ship banked southwest, flying just above cloud cover. It was quiet inside—no cargo, no personnel aside from the flight crew and two Overwatch recon teams. From the reinforced windows, the islands below looked like blotches of green stitched into the sea. Beautiful… and silent.

Thomas stood at the nose viewport.

Bohol. Negros. Cebu.

Once rich, vibrant centers of life—now darkened relics.

The onboard AI pinged a proximity alert. A faint radio signal was detected—short-range. Civilian frequency. Manual Morse code.

"… –.- . . .–. / …. — .–. . / .-.. .. …- . / -.- . . .–. / …. — .–. . / .-.. .. …- ."

Phillip looked up. "That's SOS. Over and over again. On loop."

Thomas's jaw clenched. "Mark it. That's our landing zone."

He tapped into the comms network. "Notify Angel. I want a supply drone ready to deploy with basic rations, medkits, and a solar relay. No contact, just airdrop. Let them know we're coming."

25 Days Since First Strike — Engineering Wing, MOA Complex

Evelyn Sato's new layout plan stretched the length of the drafting table. Each region now had its own sub-grid: Luzon, Visayas, Mindanao. They weren't just building cities anymore. They were planning regional capitals—"Bastions," she called them.

Each bastion would follow a three-ring design:

Inner Core: Hospitals, government, armories, and communication nodes.

Mid-Ring: Vertical farms, education centers, utility systems.

Outer Ring: Residential units, public markets, and motorpool lots.

They would all connect via Overwatch's new initiative—Project Sentinel Rail. A maglev-inspired hybrid track using pre-apocalypse tunnels and new prefabricated bridges. Power would be supplied by regional microgrids: geothermal, solar, wind depending on location.

"I've submitted requisitions for three naval transport barges," Sato added. "We'll need them to move prefab kits and drones across the straits. You want Cebu up and running within sixty days, right?"

Thomas nodded. "Thirty."

Sato blinked. "That's not humanly—"

"It's not," he said calmly. "That's why we're not doing it the old way."

26 Days Since First Strike — Lucena, Phoenix Sector-3

The plaza fountain finally activated.

Filtered seawater, drawn from underground pipelines, rose in a thin arc over the sculpture in the center—a phoenix with wings spread wide. Children screamed in joy as they splashed beneath it. Vendors were already setting up stalls. Bread. Fish. Soap made from reclaimed animal fat.

Lucena had a soul now.

Thomas arrived on foot, dressed plainly, no armed escort.

An elderly woman stopped him mid-step. "You're him, aren't you?"

He smiled faintly. "One of many."

She placed a small loaf of bread in his hand. "For all you've done. Thank you."

Thomas accepted it in silence.

Nearby, Keplar and a field officer debriefed the new sanitation crew about bloom reemergence protocols—still no sign of recurrence. Soil was fertile. Children had even started planting flower beds around the shelters.

"This is working," Marcus said beside him.

"For now," Thomas replied.

"You always say that."

"Because it's true."

27 Days Since First Strike — Overwatch Intelligence Vault

Inside the secure vault, deep beneath the MOA Complex, AI systems analyzed old satellite archives and new recon footage. Thomas, Keplar, and Sato were reviewing a growing concern: mutation patterns.

Keplar pointed to a time-lapse map. "The Bloom spores adapt rapidly to fire-based sterilization. We've confirmed their retreat from irradiated zones, but in two outlying sectors—north of Tarlac and near Davao Gulf—they've shifted underground."

"Like roots?" Sato asked.

"Exactly. They burrow. Avoid surface scans. Then resurge."

"And if they adapt to radiation next?"

Keplar's voice grew cold. "Then even the nukes won't be enough."

Thomas didn't flinch. "Then we need a new weapon."

He accessed the system interface and opened the Research Directive tab.

[New Tech Branch Available: Bloom Suppression via Biochemical Warfare][Unlock Cost: 100,000 Blood Coins][Confirm Y/N]

He tapped Y.

A new screen appeared.

Project Aegis — "If fire won't kill it, biology will."

28 Days Since First Strike — MOA Assembly Hall

For the first time since Overwatch's founding, they held a general assembly.

Civilians. Officers. Engineers. Medics. Farmers. Schoolteachers.

All seated.

Thomas stepped to the front with no military formality. No titles. Just a voice.

"We're twenty-eight days removed from fire," he began. "And in those twenty-eight days, we've built four cities. Created power grids. Farms. Homes. We've restored communication. Trade. Trust."

Murmurs of agreement rippled through the crowd.

"But we've also uncovered the truth—that the Bloom isn't done. It changes. It hides. And it will return."

The room fell silent.

"That's why we build more than cities. We build systems. Defense grids. Firewalls. Food chains. Patrol lines. Not just to restore the world—but to protect what we've rebuilt."

He paused, meeting their eyes.

"I will not pretend we are safe. But I promise you this—we will never be helpless again."

The room erupted in applause.

29 Days Since First Strike — MOA Command, Personal Quarters

Late at night, Thomas sat at his desk.

In front of him: three photos.

The world before the Fall. A satellite view of Manila. A child's drawing from Lucena. And a black box marked "For When the World Is Ready."

He didn't open it.

Not yet.

Instead, he stood and looked out the window at the Complex.

The airstrips glowed with takeoff lights. The drone factories buzzed at 60% output. The city beyond was alive.

Then the monitor blinked.

Incoming Transmission — Unknown Origin — Quezon Province

Thomas narrowed his eyes and clicked Accept.

A face appeared—grizzled, scarred, but unmistakably human.

"We've been watching," the man said. "You lit up the sky. Nukes, drones, cities. You're not the only ones who survived."

Thomas leaned in.

"Then let's talk."