Weapon System in Zombie Apocalypse

The afternoon wind swept across the MOA Complex airstrip, kicking up loose dust along the tarmac. Thomas Estaris stood near Hangar Four, his arms crossed, watching as the Apache AH-64's maintenance crews finished their final checks. It was a brutal-looking machine—sleek, angular, armored to the teeth with its 30mm M230 chain gun hanging beneath its nose like a clenched fist. Rocket pods were loaded and locked. The twin rotor blades were motionless for now, but even standing still, the aircraft exuded a raw, mechanical aggression.

He took a breath. The Black Hawk flight earlier that week had been a recon mission, a way to see the world from above and process just how far the infection had spread. But this time, he wasn't just sightseeing.

"Really going up in that thing?" a voice asked from behind.

Thomas turned to see Coop walking toward him, helmet tucked under his arm, sunglasses on, and his flight suit half-zipped. He looked as casual as ever, even with the apocalypse unfolding outside the walls.

"I want to see what this thing can do," Thomas said, adjusting the sleeves of his Overwatch field jacket. "A lot of our plans depend on close air support working when the ground fails."

Coop gave a short nod. "Then you're in the right bird. But flying it is a whole different beast from the Black Hawk."

"I'm not green," Thomas said. "Just inexperienced."

"You know how to shoot?"

"I should know it instinctively since I do have the skills for it."

"Then let's hope that you do since you will be the one firing," Coop said with a grin, tossing Thomas a spare helmet.

They walked toward the Apache together. The ground crew stepped back, giving them space. One of the technicians saluted them informally and held up a checklist.

"Full fuel. Chain gun loaded. Rocket pods locked. All diagnostics green," the tech said.

Thomas climbed into the pilot seat, front cockpit. Coop took the gunner/co-pilot seat behind him. The Apache came alive with the flick of a few switches. Instruments blinked into green, and the engine's growl built to a fierce vibration beneath their feet. The rotor blades spun to life, chopping the air with growing intensity.

"Welcome to the hornet's nest," Coop said over the intercom.

Thomas exhaled slowly, hands gripping the cyclic and collective.

"Let's go hunting," he said.

The Apache lifted off the tarmac like a demon given wings. Its tail dipped briefly, then rose as they banked east over the reclaimed waters of Manila Bay. The city stretched out before them, broken and burning in places, consumed in others.

Their route took them over the old Cultural Center complex and onward toward the edge of the Greenbelt district—an area previously patrolled by Overwatch scouts but now largely inaccessible due to spore spread and biomass expansion.

"You got eyes on the intersection?" Coop asked, tagging a point on the digital HUD. "That's where Command reported a cluster of reanimated infected moving through yesterday. They're likely dragging corpses back to the nearest Bloom."

Thomas narrowed his eyes through the visor and toggled thermal overlay. The heat signatures flared instantly—dozens of them, moving slowly but with purpose. Some crawled. Others limped. A few sprinted and collapsed again.

"This is it," Thomas muttered. "Let's wake them up."

He angled the bird slightly and selected the Hydra 70 rocket pod.

"Rockets hot," Coop confirmed. "On your mark."

Thomas didn't wait.

He fired.

The pods erupted in a rapid hiss of smoke and flame, streaking down like thunderbolts into the streets below. Concrete exploded. A fireball erupted from a crushed sedan, flinging infected in all directions.

Several creatures tried to scatter, only for the M230 chain gun to whir to life.

BRRRRT.

The 30mm rounds ripped through asphalt and biomass alike, carving a line of destruction through the infected cluster. Limbs flew. A tall figure—bloated and pulsing with red mist—burst like a balloon under the impact.

"That one was a pod carrier," Coop said. "Nice shot."

They looped south, continuing the run. Several Bloom tendrils were visibly moving now, reacting to the heat and vibrations.

"We're being watched," Thomas said.

"I'd be shocked if we weren't."

Another run. More rockets. The sound of death and fire echoed over the ruins of Makati.

They passed over a burned-out overpass and spotted another Bloom cluster forming near a partially collapsed condominium. Thomas tapped the targeting control and aligned the crosshairs.

"One more sweep," he said.

"Give them hell."

This time, he fired the chain gun in a controlled burst—cutting through half-formed creatures emerging from the biomass. The flesh peeled off them as they collapsed mid-crawl.

A particularly large creature—twisted, gorilla-like, but with no face—roared and charged toward the base of the building. Thomas fired again.

This time, the whole ledge collapsed, taking the thing with it.

"That's it!" Coop whooped. "You're getting the hang of it."

Thomas didn't answer right away. His face was unreadable, locked in that distant focus soldiers wore when they were thinking beyond the battlefield.

They turned back toward the west, flying lower now. Below them, zombies stirred. Some looked up and screeched. Others pointed. A few tried to follow, only to be burned down by a final strafing run.

They didn't stop flying until the ammo count blinked low.

"Heading back," Coop said. "We'll do rearm at Hangar Four."

"Yeah," Thomas replied. "Let's bring it in."

As they returned to MOA Complex, the wind carried the acrid scent of burning Bloom and scorched asphalt through the cockpit.

They touched down gently. The ground crew rushed forward, hosing down the Apache with foam spray to neutralize any residue, while mechanics began prepping for reloading.

Thomas climbed out of the cockpit and pulled off his helmet.

He looked toward the skyline again.

The Bloom was still there. Still growing.

But for the first time in a long while, it wasn't the only thing dominating the horizon.

He'd brought fire to the sky.

And he wasn't done yet.

Phillip was waiting at the edge of the hangar, arms crossed.

"How was the ride?"

Thomas tossed him a smirk. "Like riding a storm."

Phillip nodded. "Good. Because the next time we fly, we might be flying into one."