Weapon System in Zombie Apocalypse

18:00 PM — War Room, MOA Complex

The room was dim, lit only by the soft glow of digital overlays and satellite interface displays. A global projection flickered on the central screen—Asia at the center, its major cities outlined in red, yellow, and white. Dozens of red zones marked biohazard conditions. Infected concentrations. Lost regions. All tagged by Overwatch drones over the past six months.

Thomas Estaris sat at the far end of the war table. Rebecca sat on his left. Colonel Sison, Casimiro, and two analysts from the Operations Cell filled out the remaining seats.

"We did it," Sison said, breaking the silence. "Intramuros is gone. The biomass tunnels across Metro Manila are gone. There haven't been any major swarm movements in seventy-two hours."

"And we've finally bought breathing room," Rebecca added. "But we both know it won't last."

Thomas remained still, his expression unreadable. His gaze was fixed on the screen, where Bangkok, Jakarta, and Ho Chi Minh were pulsing with red.

Casimiro tapped a console, enlarging the map.

"Based on all regional drone sweeps, these are the cities with the highest remaining cluster density. Infected presence is beyond civilian rescue at this point. Each of these sites has become a biomass hive—nest variants, spawning pits, even airborne dispersion colonies in some districts."

He drew a breath. "We estimate the infection has evolved further in Bangkok's underground canals. Something akin to what we saw in Manila's tunnel networks… only larger."

"Then we have to act before those networks stabilize," Thomas said.

Rebecca turned to him. "You're talking about another tactical strike?"

"I'm talking about three," Thomas answered. "Simultaneous. Coordinated."

A stunned silence fell.

Sison blinked. "Sir, you're recommending nuclear detonation… in three sovereign countries?"

"There are no sovereign nations anymore," Thomas replied. "No functioning governments. No U.N. No ASEAN. Only infected territory and what's left of humanity hiding behind steel gates."

Casimiro hesitated. "If we launch, even with low-yield tactical warheads, there will be fallout. Not just literal—but political. Survivors, enclaves, militia groups—they'll see it as Overwatch declaring itself judge, jury, and executioner."

"Let them," Thomas said coldly. "They aren't the ones sending scouts into biomass zones. We are. They're not building water systems, power grids, or hospitals. We are. If they want to lead, they should've fought. But they didn't. We did. And we will continue to do so."

Rebecca crossed her arms. "Targets?"

Thomas stood and tapped the central screen.

Three red circles flared.

Bangkok – Ratchathewi District. Jakarta – East Jakarta Spore Bloom. Ho Chi Minh City – Cholon Nest Zone.

"These are the primary zones. All are beyond the point of reclamation through conventional means. No survivors have been reported in weeks. Radio silence. Drone footage confirms complete biomass overrun."

Rebecca exhaled slowly. "Any way we can evacuate potential civilians before the strike?"

Casimiro grimaced. "Unlikely. The growths have consumed entire districts. We'd lose more men trying to confirm zero civvies than we would from executing the strike. Precision scans suggest zero movement patterns consistent with human physiology."

Sison added, "We also have no infrastructure in those cities. No ground teams. No safe approach routes. This has to be an air-dropped detonation."

Thomas nodded. "We'll use modified delivery again. Spooky One can handle two payloads. We'll need a secondary aircraft for the third. What do we have in reserve?"

"AC-130B variant in hangar seven. Still flyable."

"Prep it. I want all three bombs in the air by next week."

The Next Morning — 08:10 AM, Observation Deck

The sun cast a golden hue over the bay, but Thomas barely noticed. He stood in silence, watching cranes rebuild the western fortification wall. Even now, life stirred. Kids ran around in the inner square. Traders had returned to selling food. Hope was leaking back in like morning light.

Rebecca approached, holding a file.

"The payload request forms. Two B61s. One W80 warhead—compact cruise delivery."

Thomas signed them without reading.

"I want this done clean. Minimum fallout. No firestorms. Precision only."

"You still think this is about survival?" she asked.

Thomas looked at her.

"No," he said. "It's about legacy."

She didn't push further.

Instead, she changed the topic. "Did you hear? Scouts returned from Taiwan. The island's southern region might still be salvageable. Power grid's offline, but the biomass never fully spread. It's possible the sea barrier slowed it."

Thomas raised an eyebrow. "Then Taiwan will be next."

Rebecca sighed. "You really plan on reclaiming the world one crater at a time?"

He finally smiled, just a little. "No. Only the parts that can't be saved."

12:00 PM — Hangar 7, Overwatch Air Wing Division

Technicians worked tirelessly around two aircraft. Spooky One was getting its targeting systems calibrated for multi-target loadouts. The second aircraft—a gray, battered AC-130B named Longspear—was being fitted with an internal payload rack.

Below them, three warheads sat under armed guard. The B61s shimmered faintly in the light. Sleek. Clean. Each one capable of ending tens of thousands of infected lives in a blink.

Thomas walked with Colonel Sison along the catwalk.

"These are the last ones," Sison said. "After this, we have to either build our own or strike a deal with another enclave that has warheads."

"We won't need more," Thomas said. "Not if this works."

"And if it doesn't?"

Thomas stopped.

"Then we go to Phase Two."

Sison hesitated. "You mean…" He trailed off.

Thomas didn't confirm or deny.

14:15 PM — Strategy Briefing Room, MOA Complex

A room filled with elite Overwatch officers—aviators, engineers, drone specialists, logistics teams. A large screen showed countdown timers and flight paths. Southeast Asia stretched beneath a digital sky.

"Operation Ashfall begins in five days," Thomas addressed the room.

"Each aircraft will follow staggered altitude paths to maintain maximum operational stealth. Drone satellites will jam any remaining comms in the region to prevent outside detection. If any survivor enclaves exist, we'll issue post-strike warnings after detonation. But these strikes are non-negotiable."

A murmur passed through the room. No one objected.

They all knew.

This was the cost of peace.

Day Five — 06:00 AM, Command Tower

The strike day dawned gray. Overcast skies gave the world a steel-like hue.

Spooky One and Longspear taxied into position. The runways, repaired and extended by months of construction work, were ready. Final systems were checked.

Thomas suited up, entering Spooky One as mission commander.

Rebecca watched from the tarmac.

"Don't hesitate," she told him.

"I won't."

She touched his chest. "Come back to me."

Thomas nodded, then boarded.

07:45 AM — Altitude 38,000 Feet, Above Jakarta

Target one.

The sensors locked on to East Jakarta.

"Firing in ten," came the AI.

Thomas inserted the first mission key. Turned it.

"God forgive us," he whispered.

The bomb dropped.

08:30 AM — Above Bangkok

Second key. Second payload.

Bangkok's arterial biomass stretched along the river like a cancerous web.

The B61 fell in silence.

09:10 AM — Over Ho Chi Minh

The last warhead—W80 cruise delivery—was launched remotely by Longspear. It streaked across the sky like a meteor before descending into the heart of Cholon.

09:45 AM — Command Deck, MOA Complex

Three red dots disappeared.

One after another.

Then came the clouds. The sensors. The data.

Casimiro read the numbers.

"Detonations clean. Minimal fallout. All targets neutralized."

Thomas exhaled. "Then Southeast Asia is back on the table."

Rebecca turned to the map.

"Now what?"

Thomas didn't hesitate.

"We go in."

Rebecca looked at him, brows raised. "With what forces?"

"Our veterans. The ones who fought in Manila. Shadow teams. Cleaners. Logistics crews. Everyone who still has fight left in them," Thomas replied. "We'll rotate out the wounded, rebuild their units, and form new expeditionary detachments. We'll call it Rainwalker Division—named after the first storm we pushed through to reclaim Makati."

Casimiro leaned in. "Reclamation begins how?"

"Air superiority first," Thomas said. "We sweep the skies. Deploy recon drones over each strike zone. Validate fallout dispersion, biomass destruction, and any surviving pockets. If we confirm biological nullification, we proceed to step two—advance bases."

Colonel Sison nodded slowly. "Forward operating camps on the outskirts. Fortified, self-sustaining, modular. We've got prefab units stockpiled already. They were meant for a second Luzon wave, but we can redirect them."

"And step three?" Rebecca asked.

Thomas's voice dropped. "Contact. We send human teams into the ashes."

A quiet fell over the room again.

"Not everyone's going to agree with this," Rebecca said, her tone cautious. "The civilian council might push back. The medics, too. Even some of the officers."

Thomas nodded. "They don't have to agree. They just have to follow. This isn't about moral clarity. It's about momentum. About reclaiming every inch we still can."

He paused.

"This is how we break the cycle. Not just by surviving—but by expanding. By proving that we're not cornered anymore. That we can hit back and build again."

Casimiro leaned back, arms folded. "And what happens if the other enclaves start responding? Vietnam, Cambodia, Singapore—assuming they're still standing. Some might see us as liberators. Others… as aggressors."

Thomas gave a thin smile. "Then let them come. If they want to talk, we'll listen. If they want to fight, we'll be ready."

He looked at the map—Southeast Asia glowing like a scorched battlefield.

"Mark my words," he said, voice steady, final. "This isn't the end of the world. It's the beginning of something new. And we will carve it out one city, one crater, and one breath of clean air at a time."

Rebecca whispered under her breath, "Operation Rainwalker begins."

And from that moment, the war for reclamation had truly begun.