Weapon System in Zombie Apocalypse-Chapter 239: Prelude to Conquering Whole of Luzon

January 15, 2026 — 8:02 PM

MOA Complex — Executive Wing, Conrad Hotel.

The sky over Manila Bay was painted in deep purples and smudged oranges, the last rays of daylight slipping past the towers of the MOA Complex as evening settled. The sea breeze rolled in cool and salt-sweet, brushing over the rooftop gardens of the hotel.

Thomas Estaris sat on a wrought-iron bench near the edge of the terrace, overlooking the bay. His Overwatch jacket was draped casually over the backrest, leaving him in a dark-gray shirt with rolled-up sleeves and civilian slacks. He looked every bit the man taking a break from command—though his wrist console still glowed faintly, ever vigilant.

He checked the time. 8:03 PM.

Then the door behind him slid open.

Rebecca Langley stepped out into the terrace, dressed in a light off-shoulder blouse and fitted black pants. Her hair was untied tonight, let loose in soft waves that caught the light of the terrace lanterns. She carried a covered dish in one hand, and a bottle of wine in the other.

"Evening," she said with a small smile.

Thomas stood. "You're late."

"By one minute. I stopped to confiscate this from the medbay's private stash," she said, holding up the bottle. "I had to promise not to tell the pharmacists."

He chuckled. "You really do know where all the good stuff is."

She raised a brow. "Director of Civilian Affairs. It comes with secrets."

He gestured toward the small garden table set under the terrace lights. A clean cloth had been laid out, courtesy of the Executive kitchen staff, along with two plates, utensils, and a pair of wine glasses.

"I didn't know if you'd want to eat out here," he said.

Rebecca set the dish down. "Out here is perfect. You can almost pretend the world didn't end."

They sat together, and she removed the lid with a small flourish.

Inside were garlic butter shrimp, fresh greens with mango slices, and warm pandesal wrapped in a cloth napkin.

"You cooked?" he asked.

"No, but I threatened the kitchen staff into taking their time."

He smiled. "That works too."

She poured the wine, deep red and fragrant, into the glasses and handed him one.

They clinked.

"To pretending," she said.

"To pretending," he echoed.

For a while, they ate quietly. Not out of awkwardness, but comfort. The hum of the city below was different now. Softer. There was laughter again, and music in the air—someone was strumming a guitar somewhere down in Sector D.

"I spoke to Marcus and Phillip this morning," Thomas said after a while.

"Oh? About us?"

He nodded.

Rebecca raised an eyebrow, chewing her shrimp thoughtfully. "And?"

"Marcus was surprised I wasn't already married to the war. Phillip thinks you'll make me change my wardrobe."

She laughed, eyes crinkling. "They're not wrong. That jacket's seen more action than the entire garrison."

He feigned offense. "It's a symbol."

"It's a relic."

They shared another drink, and the conversation drifted. They talked about the garden restoration efforts, about how someone had rigged a solar-powered irrigation system using old water purifiers. About how the theater are all functioning optimally showing previous movies that were released prior to the apocalypse.

Then the mood shifted a little, softened by the glow of lanterns and the weight of words unspoken.

"Rebecca," Thomas said, his voice lower now. "Do you think it's selfish? Wanting this?"

She paused. "What do you mean?"

He stared at the bay. "Us. This moment. Wanting to feel human again."

She leaned back in her chair, turning her wineglass slowly in her hand.

"No," she said after a while. "I think it's brave. Wanting something more when the world tries to take everything from you? That's not selfish. That's surviving."

He looked at her. "I'm scared it won't last."

She reached across the table and took his hand. "That's why we make it count."

A breeze passed, and her fingers tightened around his.

"You remember what you said that night at the Ferris wheel?" she asked.

"Which part?"

"That you wanted a house by the sea. A dog. Peace."

He smiled faintly. "Still do."

"Then we build it. Brick by brick, day by day."

He nodded. The wine was getting to him a little now, but not in a bad way. Just enough to make him feel warm and steady.

They rose from the table after finishing the last of their food, walking to the edge of the terrace where a low glass railing overlooked the entire southern coast.

"Laguna's getting worse," he murmured. "Bloom nests are sprouting faster there than in northern Manila."

Rebecca sighed. "How bad?"

"We'll lose Calamba and Los Baños in a month if it keeps up."

"Do we have the manpower?"

"Yes. Why are you asking me that?"

"Don't know, standard response."

"I'll just summon men and conquer the whole of Luzon."

She glanced at him. "I see, that's what we always do in this kind of situation."

"Yeah."

Rebecca leaned on the railing. "I will help in any way I can. But as a director of human affairs, I can only handle our civilians."

"Yes." He paused. "But today, I want a pause button. Nights like this. Reminders that the world's not all loss."

She reached for his hand again. "Then let's have that."

They stood like that for a long time, gazing out at the endless ocean.

Then, somewhere below, the faint chime of a restored bell echoed through the MOA plaza—a tradition someone had started a few weeks ago. One ring at 9 PM to mark curfew, to call the children back indoors.

Thomas turned to her.

"Stay the night?"

Rebecca blinked.

"Not like that," he added quickly. "Just stay. On the couch if you want. I just... I don't want to sleep alone tonight."

She studied him for a moment. Then nodded.

"Okay."

They made their way back through the terrace doors and into the hallway, past quiet guards and idle terminals, past sealed storage rooms and supply manifests.

Back to the suite that he called his command post, his home, his burden.

Inside, Thomas tossed his jacket aside and poured her a glass of water. Rebecca kicked off her shoes and settled into the couch like she'd done it a hundred times.

"This place always felt too cold before," she said.

"And now?"

"Now it feels... lived in."

He sat beside her, elbow brushing hers. The screens were off. The lights were low.

Outside, the city slept.

And for the first time in weeks, Thomas Estaris didn't feel like a commander.

He felt like a man.

And in the heart of a broken world, that was enough.

But it wasn't quite the end of the night.

Rebecca stood up from the couch and wandered over to the wide-paneled window, gazing out at the moonlight casting its reflection over Manila Bay. Her silhouette, framed against the soft blue hue of the night, looked almost too peaceful for this broken world.

"I don't think I've ever felt this calm," she said quietly.

Thomas joined her, leaning beside her on the wall. "Feels like we're standing in a dream."

"No," she replied. "Dreams fade. This feels... real. Fragile, but real."

They stood in silence again, the way they always did when words weren't enough. Then Rebecca turned, leaned her head slightly against his shoulder.

He didn't move.

Didn't dare.

"Thomas," she said softly, "can I ask you something?"

"Anything."

She looked up at him, searching his face. "Are you sure you're ready? For all of this. For more than just the job... for us."

He met her eyes. There was no hesitation in his voice. "I am."

Her hand reached up to trace his jaw, fingers brushing along the edge of his cheek. "I am too."

There was a shift in the air—not sudden, but natural. As if the weight of their shared silence, their trust, their grief, had finally crystallized into something tender and undeniable.

Thomas took a step back—not away, but inward. Toward her. He reached for her hand and guided her gently toward the private hallway that led to the attached Conrad quarters. A separate suite. Not where war was waged. Where peace might be allowed in.

Rebecca didn't resist. Her fingers stayed laced with his.

The door slid open with a soft mechanical hiss, the interior dimly lit by overhead LEDs set to low. It was warm in here—softer than the command suite. No holo-maps or blinking alerts. Just bookshelves, polished wood floors, and a wide bed that had been unused for far too long.

Thomas closed the door behind them and locked it—not out of secrecy, but sanctuary.

No alarms. No interruptions. Just this moment.

Rebecca stepped inside slowly, running her fingers along the edge of the bed's headboard. Her voice was low, almost playful. "So this is where the Commander hides his civilian self."

He smiled faintly. "It hasn't seen much use."

"Then maybe it's time it did."

He approached her slowly, not rushing the moment. They kissed—not out of desperation, not from the urgency of war, but something more grounded. Intimate. Steady. Human.

When she slipped her arms around his neck and leaned into him fully, he held her there for a long time. Neither of them spoke again. Words would only interrupt.

The lights dimmed further.

Time, for once, didn't matter.

January 16, 2026 — 6:27 AM

MOA Complex — Executive Wing, Conrad Suite

The early morning sun spilled through the half-drawn curtains of the Conrad suite, painting golden light across the edge of the bed.

Thomas stirred first.

He was on his side, head resting on one arm, the other draped loosely across the sheets. The room was silent, peaceful in a way few places ever were anymore. For a moment, he didn't remember why he felt so calm—until his eyes adjusted and settled on the figure beside him.

Rebecca lay there, half-covered by the blanket, one hand tucked beneath her cheek, the other stretched toward him across the bed. Her breathing was slow, deep, the kind of sleep earned only when one's walls finally came down.

He didn't move. Didn't want to break the spell.

Something in his chest, long dormant, swelled gently.

She was here.

They were here.

He knew that outside this room, operations would begin in thirty minutes. Reports would pile in. Bloom Nests would spread. Patrols would mobilize. The world would demand his attention.

But not yet.

Not for a few more precious minutes.

He reached over and gently brushed a strand of hair from Rebecca's face. Her eyes opened a little, sleepy but aware.

"Hey," she whispered.

"Hey," he whispered back.

She smiled, just barely. "I stayed."

"I know."