Weapon System in Zombie Apocalypse

The tactical map of Metro Manila's tunnel network was fully compiled now—rendered in 3D on the wall-length display in the command center. Dozens of glowing red veins crisscrossed under the city, each one representing infected biomass pathways. Some had collapsed. Others pulsed steadily, like arteries still feeding something deeper.

Thomas Estaris stood at the center of it all, unmoving, his arms crossed and his eyes locked on a single node blinking red near Intramuros.

"Confirmed?" he asked.

"Confirmed," Casimiro replied. "It's not biological. It's man-made. Old Cold War-era structure. Built as a government bunker. Reinforced titanium shell. No public record. No power grid. It's been dormant—until now."

"Could the infected be using it?"

"We don't know. But the heat signatures suggest activity. Biomass has grown around it, but not inside. It's… avoiding it."

Rebecca leaned closer to the console. "Why avoid it?"

Casimiro shook his head. "Could be radiation. Could be something else inside they don't want to contaminate. But the fact that it's awake now—that's the part that worries me."

Thomas turned away. He'd seen enough. "Then let's seal the tunnels. All of them. Prepare the seismic collapse protocol."

Colonel Sison stepped forward, holding a tablet with the final authorization prompt. "We've lined the main supports with thermobarics and seismic shatter charges. Detonation will collapse every tunnel from Baclaran to Quiapo. Including under the Intramuros site."

"What's our civvy estimate?"

"Zero confirmed. Reaper drones did three full sweeps—no movement besides infected."

Thomas pressed his thumb on the tablet.

"Execute it."

11:35 AM — Tunnel Collapse, Metro Manila

The earth shook like the gods themselves had woken in anger.

One by one, the charges ignited deep underground. It began with muffled thuds—then rumbles—then full-blown quakes that shattered old sewer lines and cracked aged concrete like eggshells. A tremor roared from the south to the east, toppling unused bridges, crumpling parts of the abandoned LRT lines like noodles.

Civilians inside the MOA Complex froze as the power flickered for a moment. Outside, dust clouds erupted from manholes like volcanic gas.

The infected underground never had a chance.

Cameras inside sealed drones caught flashes of heat, flame, and then darkness. Entire nests crumbled into themselves—the biological tunnels that once sprawled for kilometers crushed beneath a million tons of rock and cement.

Above, the map turned dark—tunnel by tunnel, node by node—until only the red dot beneath Intramuros remained.

Unaffected.

11:50 AM — Command Deck, MOA Complex

Thomas stared at the screen. "It survived?"

"Yes," Casimiro confirmed. "The vault didn't even flinch. Whatever's in there—whatever it's made of—it was designed to withstand more than seismic pressure."

Rebecca bit her lip. "Then we go nuclear."

The room went quiet.

Thomas turned. "How much yield are we talking?"

Colonel Sison stepped forward again. "We still have the B61 tactical warhead you purcahsed. Clean detonation. Low fallout. Five-kiloton yield if set to dial-down mode."

"And delivery method?"

"We can modify Spooky One to drop it via high-altitude release. Direct laser guidance into the vault."

Thomas nodded.

"Then we finish it."

12:20 PM — Hangar Bay, MOA Complex

The warhead was small. Incredibly so for what it could do. The B61 sat inside a reinforced bomb rack, its sleek casing engraved with old U.S. markings. It hadn't been touched in decades—until Overwatch found it inside an abandoned airfield bunker in Pampanga.

Spooky One was wheeled into position, its belly open.

"Payload secure," said the flight chief.

Thomas walked the length of the aircraft, checking systems with practiced calm. He'd flown recon missions. He'd deployed drones. But this—this was something else.

Rebecca joined him, handing him the final mission key.

"Are you sure about this?" she asked.

"No," he replied. "But it's the only way to make sure the war ends here. Not twenty years from now."

She gave him a firm nod, then pulled him close for a short, silent embrace.

"If you die," she whispered, "I'm going to drag you out of the afterlife and kill you again."

Thomas smirked, then climbed the ramp.

13:00 PM — Altitude 35,000 Feet, Above Metro Manila

Spooky One soared silently above the city, guided by the onboard AI and remote-assisted crew below.

Thomas sat at the console, flanked by two other officers.

"Target lock confirmed," said the AI. "Wind vector steady. Laser designation locked."

The bomb bay doors opened.

Beneath them, Intramuros sat like an ancient scar on the city's face. The vault was deep, invisible to the naked eye, but the sensors could see it—see the coldness, the anomaly at its core.

"Ready to drop," came the final prompt.

Thomas placed the mission key into the console.

"God help us," he muttered. Then turned it.

13:03 PM — Ground Zero: Intramuros Vault

The bomb fell in silence.

There was no scream. No wail of approaching death. Just the whistling of air displaced as the warhead plunged.

Then—

Light.

Blinding.

The core of the old district erupted in a flash brighter than the sun. The vault disappeared in a second. The surrounding kilometers vaporized in a ring of white fire and pressure.

A mushroom cloud rose slowly—silent and terrible—until it crested over the remnants of the collapsed city.

Sensors on Spooky One confirmed: the vault was gone.

And so was everything inside.

13:20 PM — Observation Tower, MOA Complex

Everyone watched.

The sky above Intramuros had turned red with dust and ash. A low, distant rumble echoed across the rooftops like thunder dragged across concrete.

But there were no infected.

Not above. Not below.

Only silence.

"Radiation levels?" Thomas asked.

"Minimal. The detonation was clean," the analyst said. "Fallout limited to half a square kilometer."

Rebecca stared at the screen. "We did it."

Thomas didn't answer.

Instead, he walked to the window.

Below, Manila was quiet again. No screaming. No alarms. No waves.

It was… over.

For now.

14:00 PM — Medical Ward, MOA Complex

Phillip lay on a gurney, IV in his arm, face bruised from the tunnel collapse. He looked up as Thomas entered.

"Did it work?"

Thomas nodded.

"We nuked the vault."

Phillip chuckled weakly. "About damn time. Maybe now we can sleep."

"Don't get too comfortable," Thomas said. "There's always another front."

Phillip grinned. "Then let's hope it's someone else's problem."

14:30 PM — Nursery Wing

Later that afternoon, Thomas held Amara in his arms.

She was heavier now. Older than when the war started. But still untouched by it.

Rebecca stood beside them, her fingers tracing the edge of the crib.

"You think she'll ever know what we had to do?"

"I hope not," Thomas said. "I hope she just gets to live."

The baby cooed softly, reaching up and grabbing Thomas's finger.

He didn't say anything after that.

There were no more words left.

Only peace.

Earned, not given.

Later that afternoon, Thomas held Amara in his arms.

She was heavier now. Older than when the war started. But still untouched by it.

Rebecca stood beside them, her fingers tracing the edge of the crib.

"You think she'll ever know what we had to do?" she asked softly.

"I hope not," Thomas said. "I hope she just gets to live."

The baby cooed softly, reaching up and grabbing Thomas's finger.

He didn't say anything after that.

There were no more words left.

Only peace.

Earned, not given.

15:00 PM — Rooftop Garden, MOA Complex

Later, Thomas sat alone on a stone bench under the shade of a recently grown neem tree—one of the few efforts to bring back greenery to the battered capital. The wind was soft. For the first time in weeks, the sky above Metro Manila was clear, unmarred by smoke trails or drone wings.

From here, he could see the faint haze rising above Intramuros in the distance. Just a blur on the horizon now. The vault was gone. Erased.

But the question lingered: What had been in there?

Some of the staff were already whispering theories. That it had been a Cold War experiment. That it had contained something worse than infection. That it had been alive.

Thomas didn't care. Whatever it had been, it was dead now.

"Mind if I sit?" Rebecca's voice broke the silence.

He nodded, and she lowered herself beside him.

"You're still thinking about it," she said.

"About what we buried? Or what we became to do it?"

Rebecca stayed quiet.

After a while, Thomas spoke again.

"We used to be a recovery team," he said. "Back in the first months, remember? We'd land with first-aid kits, MREs, and rescue ropes. Helped people evacuate. Saved civilians."

She looked at him. "We still save people."

"Yeah," he muttered. "With napalm and nukes."

Rebecca didn't argue. She just leaned her shoulder against his.

"That vault was a shadow of the old world," she said after a moment. "Whatever was in there… they made it. Not us. We just ended it."

He nodded, but his jaw was tight. "Still doesn't feel like a victory."

"Maybe it's not," she said. "Maybe it's just survival."

16:30 PM — Debrief Room 3, Command Level

Phillip, now bandaged and sitting upright, was giving his final debrief to a panel of officers and analysts. Maps, drone footage, biosample logs—everything from the last operation was being recorded and reviewed for archive.

One analyst leaned forward. "If the infected were avoiding the vault, does that mean they feared it?"

Phillip shrugged. "Don't know. But anything that scares those things… probably wasn't something we wanted to keep around."

Another officer asked, "Do you believe the seismic collapse and nuke combo wiped out all remaining nests?"

"No." Phillip's reply was immediate. "But we bought ourselves time. Maybe weeks. Maybe months. Whatever's next—it's not coming from underneath us anymore."

17:45 PM — East Gate Wall, MOA Perimeter

The last transport trucks rolled in, carrying refugees found wandering south of Alabang. Most were dehydrated, malnourished, but uninfected. The gates opened slowly, letting them inside.

Thomas stood watching as the new arrivals were processed. Children clung to mothers. Old men carried bags of what little they'd saved. One young girl stopped in front of him, her feet bare and her face smudged with soot.

She looked up at him. "Are the monsters gone?"

Thomas hesitated.

Then knelt, meeting her eyes.

"They are," he said. "They won't crawl out of the ground again."