Weapon System in Zombie Apocalypse-Chapter 146: Relieving some Stress

The system interface prompted before Thomas's eyes and read the notification that told him that the mission was complete. He tapped the "Confirm" tab and then immediately after, the rewards for the mission, the capsules for blood coins and the experience points are now in his inventory, with their icon borders gleaming as if stating it was newly acquired.

This was an easy mission for Thomas as he only dealt with fanatics who are still humans, though they have evolutionize themselves through bioengineering. He wondered how they did that, maybe if they could bring their corpses to the lab they would be able to study it. After all, they might contain a key to unlock a cure for the apocalypse. Not that it's going to be easy anyways.

The helicopter flew towards MOA Complex and Thomas could already see the silhouette of the city. Everything outside the perimeter of MOA Complex are in darkness due to having no electric power while the MOA Complex is filled with varying lights.

It will be good to be back, and the survivors that he had rescued added a significant portion in his blood coins balance, even though it was already a significant amount.

The Blackhawk's wheels touched down with a soft thunk, skids biting into the metal platform of MOA's primary helipad. The wind from the rotors kicked up dust and tarp edges, buffeting the medical tents already lined up near the platform. Ground crews in orange vests and Overwatch medics in white-trimmed field armor rushed forward.

The ramp dropped.

Thomas stepped out first, flanked by Phillip and Ghost. Behind them, the stretcher bearers emerged, hauling the injured, the barely-conscious, and the dead in body bags. The rescued survivors followed, wide-eyed and hollow, guided gently by Shadow-3 and the rest of Alpha Team.

Above, drones hovered—two Reapers and a medevac quadrotor keeping aerial coverage tight. The gates leading into the compound buzzed with activity. Civilians watched from balconies, Overwatch personnel hurried across platforms, and the sun finally peeked through the overcast haze.

Thomas didn't say anything.

He didn't need to.

This wasn't the victory lap.

It was clean-up.

Phillip spoke briefly with the field officers coordinating the triage lines. Medics took charge of the survivors. Those with fevers or erratic neural scans were moved to isolation, while others were sent straight into the intake tents.

Thomas made his way past them, stepping down into the heart of the complex. Each step echoed off metal walkways. He passed a few nods of recognition from Overwatch troops. Most didn't speak. They didn't need to either.

Everyone had seen the drone footage by now.

The Prophet was dead.

And hell had been gutted.

Conrad Building Command Center.

Thomas sat at the second-floor deck overlooking the main plaza of the complex. A stall labeled "Texas Roadhouse – Authorized Overwatch Vendor" glowed bright in neon. A miracle of surviving branding, salvaged ingredients, and reclaimed restaurant gear.

He didn't care if the steak was freeze-dried and the mashed potatoes were made from powder. It was hot.

The tray in front of him held a full breakfast platter—steak, eggs, synthetic hashbrowns, and a cup of coffee that was only half-burned.

He took the first bite, silent. The protein hit his system like a reset button.

He leaned back, finally exhaling.

"Hey."

The voice came from his left.

He turned.

Erika.

She wore standard Overwatch light-duty armor—navy gray underplate, rifle slung lazily across her back, and a cap tucked under her arm. She looked cleaner than the last time he saw her—no blood, no dirt—just tired eyes and a faint, familiar smile.

"Thought I'd find you here," she said.

Thomas chewed once, then nodded. "It's the only place in this sector that doesn't taste like MRE cardboard."

Erika sat across from him, helmet on the table.

"You look like shit," she said, without malice.

"I've had worse days."

"Same," she replied, then paused. "How'd it go?"

Thomas didn't answer at first. He picked up the coffee, sipped it once.

Then he looked her in the eye.

Th𝓮 most uptodate nov𝑒ls are publish𝒆d on ƒreewebηoveℓ.com.

"We dropped into a jungle chapel. Kids chanting like they were born for it. Suicide triggers in their teeth. Wakers. Scourged prototypes. Montano had a custom brute stitched together with injectors for blood. Nearly killed half my team. Then he ran."

Erika blinked. "And?"

"I shot him through the leg," Thomas said. "Then the face."

She laughed quietly, leaning forward on her elbows. "Jesus. That's... that's intense."

"It was clean," he said. "But not clean enough. We pulled fifty people out of cages. Some didn't make it. Some were too far gone."

Erika's smile faded slightly. Her eyes softened.

"You did good, though. You ended it."

"No," he said, shaking his head. "We ended a chapter. That book's still got pages."

A long pause passed between them.

Erika looked at the people moving down in the plaza—the survivors being guided to medical tents, the smell of cooking oil and coffee from nearby food stalls wafting in the air.

"We never really talked after that day," she said suddenly. "Back at the building. When the Reaper dropped you through the roof and I thought you were just some hallucination."

Thomas chuckled. "And you were the only one there, and you were a badass one who saved my life."

She smiled, faintly. "Well helping people in need is a priority of mine, especially when the world has gone to shit."

They sat in silence for a moment, watching the sun rise higher above the compound.

Erika glanced at him again.

"You gonna rest at all?" she asked.

Thomas looked at his half-finished tray. Then at the distant helipads where the medevacs were still landing.

"I'll get to it."

She nodded, pushing herself up, stretching slightly.

Then, more softly, she added, "If you want… we could head to your room."

He looked at her.

Just the thought of him going to her room made his junior down in his groin grew big. He knew what they are going to do in that room, and yes, he needed to relieve some of his stress and pressure inside of her.

"Let me finish my meal."