Weapon System in Zombie Apocalypse

The sun hung low behind a veil of dirty gray clouds when the call for the debrief went out.

Inside the MOA Complex's fortified briefing hall—a retrofitted cinema turned war room—dozens of soldiers filed in slowly. Squad leaders, fireteam commanders, Shadow operatives, artillery officers. They came with dirt still streaked across their faces, blood on their uniforms, and exhaustion etched deep into their bones.

The lights were dim. A single overhead projector cast a flickering blue hologram of Metro Manila's burning ruins onto the battered wall at the front of the room.

Thomas stood there, waiting silently, hands clasped behind his back.

When the last of the officers found a seat—or simply stood leaning against the walls, too tired to care—Marcus stepped forward and killed the chatter with a short, sharp whistle.

"Attention on deck."

The room stiffened.

Thomas didn't waste time.

"At ease," he said. His voice was low but carried clearly over the ragged breathing and shifting boots. "You earned it."

Some tension eased, though not much.

Thomas stepped into the center of the room, tapping a few keys on the console. The holographic map shifted, zooming in on Cubao and the MOA Complex perimeter.

"This is where we stand," he began. "And this is what you all bought us."

He highlighted the defensive zones: West Sector—scarred but intact. North—minor breaches, already patched. East and South—light engagements, successfully repelled.

"Casualties," Marcus read from a datapad, voice tight. "Confirmed KIA: 43 Overwatch personnel. Wounded: 121, ranging from minor to critical. Civilian casualties—minimal. No breaches into civilian bunkers."

A murmur went through the room—grim, but relieved.

Forty-three dead was heavy.

But it could have been hundreds.

Thomas let the numbers sink in before continuing.

"You did what no one thought possible," he said, scanning the faces around him. "You held this ground. You protected the Complex. You protected the civilians."

A few heads nodded slowly.

"Now," he said, voice hardening, "comes the reality."

He tapped another key.

The map shifted again—this time highlighting new red zones spreading outward from Cubao, fanning east toward Pasig, north toward Quezon City.

"These are the latest recon reports," Thomas said. "Residual clusters. Mutated infected. Remaining pockets of airborne hostiles."

The map pulsed faintly.

"And this," he said, zooming farther out, "is the broader problem."

Dozens of new red dots appeared across the city.

Far too many.

The officers stirred uneasily.

Thomas turned toward them fully.

"The surge we faced today wasn't random. It wasn't an accident. It was coordinated."

The word hit the room like a slap.

"You saw the tactics," he continued. "They weren't mindless. They flanked us. Targeted key units. Hit our logistics. Tried to blind our air assets. Even those flying monstrosities weren't just instinct-driven—they moved with intent."

He let the words hang there.

Phillip, standing near the center, spoke up with a rough, steady voice.

"You're saying they're evolving."

Thomas nodded slowly. "Faster than we thought. We always knew about the zombies evolving but we don't know at what rate. But given the circumstances, they are fast."

A heavy silence settled over the room.

"Based on post-battle samples," Marcus added, stepping forward, "Dr. Calix's preliminary report suggests multiple strains. Different classes of infected now—feral types, behemoth types, aerial types. Some completely new biological markers we haven't even categorized yet. We will wait for the doctors to properly categorized them."

Thomas pointed back to the map.

"And they're spreading."

"How far?" a squad leader asked from the back.

Thomas didn't sugarcoat it.

"Farther than our immediate recon zone. The entire eastern sector of Metro Manila is compromised. Scout drones spotted bio-massive growths as far out as Antipolo and Marikina. We have no idea how deep it goes beyond that—our long-range comms are patchy."

Another officer leaned forward, frowning. "Sooner or later, there will be another assault coming. We don't know when but it's going to be like us fighting a whole other country."

Thomas exhaled slowly.

"That is right, we are the only ones here as confirmed from previous reconnaissance. Sure there will be pocket survivors that are still hiding and the military in shambles, but we are the only working organization in this country," he said simply.

The reality crashed down hard.

It was them.

Here.

Now.

Thomas let it settle before pushing forward.

"But," he said, voice sharpening, "we're not helpless. You know my abilities right? I can summon ammunition, manpower, and military hardware. I'm going to do that after we finish our debrief. So you can think of it as reinforcement coming in."

Some heads lifted at that.

"And more than that," Thomas said, voice low, intense, "we've proven one thing today."

He looked them all in the eyes.

"We can kill them. We can crush them. So long as their body is made of hydrocarbons, they won't be invincible from conventional weapons."

The room stirred.

Phillip straightened slightly at that.

"You saw it," Thomas continued. "They bleed. They burn. They fall. They're not invincible. And if we fight smart—if we fight together—we survive."

A long, steady silence.

It wasn't cheering.

It wasn't wild shouting.

It was harder. More honest.

The kind of silent, burning determination that only came from people who had seen hell and decided they would not bow to it.

Thomas keyed off the map, returning the room to darkness broken only by the soft glow of emergency lights.

He looked at them one last time.

"Rest up. Rotate squads. Rebuild what we can. In 48 hours, I want full readiness. Because we all know it—" He tapped the side of his head. "—this was just the opening salvo."

Phillip gave a small, tight nod.

Other squad leaders did the same.

No one here needed false hope.

They just needed the truth—and the will to face it.

"Dismissed," Thomas said finally.

Boots scraped the floor as the officers began to file out, heads bowed but shoulders squared.

Only Phillip lingered for a moment longer.

He met Thomas's gaze across the room.

No words needed.

We're still standing.

And we're not done yet.

Thomas gave him a nod—and Phillip returned it before turning away into the smoke-tinged corridor beyond.

Outside, the skies were still bruised with ash.

But beyond the horizon, somewhere, the sun still burned.

And so did they.

"Time for another military shopping."