Weapon System in Zombie Apocalypse

September 3, 2025 — MOA Complex, Conrad Tower

The morning sun filtered through the wide, reinforced windows of the Estaris quarters. It cast soft lines across the polished concrete floor, the kind of morning light that felt earned—like the city had survived another day, and this sunrise was its quiet reward. The hum of early life within the MOA Complex was faint but present: a broom scraping in the hall, the muted chatter of maintenance crews, and the clinking of cookware in the canteen level below.

Thomas Estaris blinked awake to the sound of his daughter stirring. Not crying—just awake. Alert.

He sat up slowly, brushing sleep from his eyes, then turned his head toward the bassinet. Amara was lying there, wrapped in a cotton blanket, her tiny fists poking through like a miniature boxer ready for a title match. Her eyes were wide, staring up at the ceiling with the kind of serious curiosity Thomas always found unnerving—and endearing.

Beside him, Rebecca stirred. "Your turn," she mumbled sleepily, not even opening her eyes.

Thomas grinned faintly. "Of course it is."

He moved out of bed with practiced care, lifting Amara with arms now seasoned from two weeks of near-nightly wakeups. She didn't fuss as he picked her up. Instead, she gave him a wide-eyed look as if to say, So what's the plan, soldier?

"Morning, commander," he whispered, bouncing her gently. "Status report?"

She responded with a soft hiccup and then nestled into his shoulder.

He walked her toward the kitchenette, grabbing a small pack of formula from the cooler. The water heater was already humming—Rebecca's doing from the early hours. He admired her quiet discipline, even after giving birth. She never stopped thinking ahead.

By the time the bottle was warm, Rebecca had joined him, still in her loose cotton robe, her hair tied up lazily. She leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed and smiling.

"You're getting good at that," she said softly.

"Feeding a baby?"

"No. Talking to her like she's a field agent."

Thomas raised an eyebrow. "She's got better focus than half the recruits I've trained."

Rebecca laughed, then stole a piece of leftover pandesal from the counter and popped it into her mouth. "So, Commander. What's the mission today?"

He pretended to think. "Light patrols. Minimal Bloom activity outside the west perimeter. But I was thinking… maybe we go to the hydroponic gardens."

She blinked. "Sector G? With the baby?"

"It's safe now. Air-sealed. Enough filtration to breathe without a mask. I had Phillip reinforce the walls last week."

She hesitated, then nodded. "Okay. Let's go."

Sector G — MOA Complex Hydroponic Dome

Two hours later

The dome was warm and alive. Rows of lettuce, kale, tomatoes, even small apple saplings thrived under filtered sunlight panels and a closed-loop irrigation system. What had once been a basketball court in the old MOA Arena was now a thriving urban farm.

Rebecca's lips parted in amazement as they walked in.

"You weren't kidding," she said softly. "It smells… real."

Thomas grinned. "Earth and mint. That corner over there's the herb beds."

Amara blinked against the brightness, shaded by a soft canopy Thomas had rigged to the stroller. She didn't cry—just watched, absorbing the greenery with those serious eyes.

A few workers from Overwatch's agricultural team waved as they passed. Thomas returned the gesture with a nod, his other hand on the stroller.

They stopped beneath one of the young apple trees. Its trunk was barely as thick as Thomas's wrist, but its leaves were already vibrant.

Rebecca sat on a bench beneath it, stretching her back. "I forgot what it felt like to see green."

"We fought to keep this alive," Thomas said. "It matters."

A small breeze rustled the leaves—manufactured by the ventilation system, but gentle enough to feel like nature.

Rebecca glanced sideways. "Do you ever wonder what she'll remember? Amara, I mean."

Thomas followed her gaze. "Hopefully not the sound of gunfire."

They sat in silence for a while, the kind you don't rush to fill. The only sounds were the faint hum of water tubes and the occasional chirp of insects someone had imported to pollinate the crops.

"Let's do this once a week," Rebecca whispered.

"Done," Thomas replied.

Afternoon — Sector C Community Canteen

The canteen had changed a lot since the first days of Overwatch. It was cleaner, brighter, with ceramic-tiled tables and proper stoves. Volunteers had painted murals on the walls—some childish, some artistic, but all hopeful. Today's lunch was sinigang and brown rice with pickled papaya.

Amara dozed in the stroller.

Thomas and Rebecca found a corner booth. A civilian woman approached with a tray, grinning. "For the commander and the madam."

Rebecca raised an eyebrow. "Madam?"

The woman laughed. "That's what they call you now. You're the first lady of Overwatch."

Thomas sighed. "We need to change that."

Rebecca chuckled. "No, we don't."

They ate slowly. For once, the food wasn't a rushed necessity but a shared moment. Around them, children giggled. A man strummed a battered guitar near the door. Someone handed out loaves of donated bread to a group of elderly survivors.

"Look at this place," Rebecca said, spooning broth into her mouth. "We built something, Tom. We really did."

He nodded, his gaze drifting to Amara's peaceful face. "She'll grow up knowing warmth. That's all I care about."

Evening — MOA Complex Schoolhouse

As promised, they stopped by the reopened classroom. It had once been a boutique shop, repurposed with chalkboards and tables. A young woman in glasses, probably in her late twenties, greeted them at the door.

"Commander! Ma'am!"

Rebecca raised Amara in a small wave. "We heard school's back."

"It is," the teacher said proudly. "Twenty kids enrolled so far. Ages five to twelve."

Inside, kids sat around makeshift desks made of scavenged materials. One boy raised a hand when he saw Thomas. "Are you the guy with the big drone?"

Thomas smiled. "That's me."

The class burst into excited chatter.

Rebecca leaned toward the teacher. "Do you have books?"

"Some. We're working on writing our own, too. Local history. Survival skills. Math and Tagalog."

"I'll bring a few donations," Rebecca promised.

They didn't stay long—just enough to inspire.

Later That Night — Commander's Quarters

Thomas watched Amara sleep while Rebecca brushed her hair nearby. The quarters were quiet now. Safe.

"You know what I miss?" she asked.

"Hmm?"

"Long walks with no reason. No destination."

Thomas nodded. "Let's bring that back."

Rebecca climbed into bed and rested her head on his shoulder. "One quiet day at a time?"

"One quiet day at a time," he echoed.

Below them, the MOA Complex hummed with life.

Above them, stars blinked quietly.

And between them, their daughter slept—safe, warm, and unaware of the world that had nearly ended.

But tomorrow was coming.

And it looked just a little brighter.