Weapon System in Zombie Apocalypse

It began with a ripple.

Not a roar, not an explosion—just a low tremor that shook loose some dust from a crumbling wall near a narrow alleyway in what was once the Ortigas commercial district.

Scout Team Echo-7 was on patrol, one of several reconnaissance groups sent out daily from the MOA Complex to monitor Bloom Nest spread and scavenge for supplies. They weren't elite commandos. They weren't heavily armed. Just well-trained Overwatch recon in patched gear and reinforced vests. Light loadouts. Fast in, fast out.

Erika was one of them, and this was her first field mission.

"Echo-7 actual, reporting in. Southeast quadrant is clear. Minimal vine movement. No spores airborne. Proceeding to checkpoint Lima." Her voice came through clear, if a little winded.

"Copy that, Echo-7. Maintain comms interval at ten. MOA Control out."

She lowered her radio and looked back at the rest of her team—five scouts in total, moving quietly through the ruins of an old grocery store. Their boots crunched lightly on broken tiles and loose paper. Through the shattered windows, the skyline was a jagged silhouette of broken towers.

"I hate this part of the city," muttered Vance, her second.

"Yeah? You hated BGC too."

"Because the zombies there run."

A faint chuckle moved through the group, but it didn't last.

Because that's when they heard it.

A sound like air escaping a massive balloon. Then a pulse—low, like a bass drop rolling through the bones of the buildings.

Erika stopped mid-step.

"Everyone down. Now."

They crouched behind overturned shelves and rusted debris. Out the window, toward the northeast, the sky was changing.

It wasn't smoke.

It was red mist.

A thick, violent burst of vapor erupted in the distance, the epicenter marked by a tower of biomass suddenly expanding, writhing, and then exploding in a bloom of red.

"What the hell—" Vance whispered.

"Bloom Nest just blew," Erika said. "I'm calling it in—"

Then they saw the first figure.

Down the road, crawling over the side of an old overpass, was a humanoid figure—but long. Its limbs were stretched unnaturally, the knees bent backward. It moved in bursts, almost glitching forward. Its skin was blackened and split open along the arms, where sharp, bone-like claws jutted out.

It wasn't like any infected they had seen before.

"Echo-7 to MOA Control," Erika said, trying to keep her voice calm. "We have visual on unknown hostiles. Repeat, we are observing infected—fast movers, elongated limbs, claws. Variant is new. Requesting immediate drone recon and potential extract."

No reply.

Only static.

Then came the scream.

The creature turned its head toward their building and let out a noise like tearing metal and shrieking wind—inhuman, piercing. A second later, two more of its kind leapt down beside it, skittering like spiders on all fours.

They ran.

"MOVE!" Erika shouted.

The group bolted out the back of the store and into an alley, but the creatures were faster.

Echo-7 was trained for retreat, for speed. But this was something else.

First down was Riley. One of the creatures leapt from a second-story ledge and drove claws straight into his back. There wasn't even time to scream.

They didn't stop.

"Keep going!" Erika shouted.

They crossed a narrow skybridge into the shell of an old clothing mall. Inside, Vance and another scout—Hughes—held the door as long as they could before one of the infected smashed through the glass.

Blood sprayed.

Erika didn't look back.

She ran until her lungs burned and her legs nearly gave out. She ducked through a broken shutter and found herself in an old café stall.

Then silence.

Heavy, unnatural silence.

She slipped behind the counter and dropped flat, breathing through her teeth to muffle the sound. The red mist was already creeping through the mall entrance. It stuck to the floor and ceiling like fog made of blood.

A minute passed.

Then another.

She heard footsteps—no, claws.

Something dragged itself across linoleum.

Closer.

Closer.

And then... it passed.

She didn't dare move.

She keyed her radio again, whispering this time. "Echo-7 to MOA Control. Squad is down. I repeat, squad is down. I am the last survivor. Hostiles are Bloomspawn variants—fast, intelligent, organized. Awaiting exfil or guidance."

Nothing.

She slumped back against the wall of the stall, her fingers tight around her knife. She didn't trust her rifle to stay quiet. If they came again, she'd make them bleed first.

Far away, a Reaper drone finally passed overhead.

She prayed someone was watching.

Back at MOA Complex, the control center flickered with life.

Thomas stood in the center as the screen lit up with red alerts.

"Echo-7 lost comms?" he asked sharply.

"Yes, sir," Marcus responded. "We just re-established drone visuals over the quadrant. Something hit them hard. Real-time feed coming up now."

The footage played.

Red mist. Screaming. Blurs of black and bone tearing through alleyways.

And the squad—his scouts—dying one by one.

Erika's last signal blinked weakly on the map.

"She's still alive," Thomas said.

"Barely," Marcus replied. "But sir… look at them."

The screen showed a paused frame of the creatures—elongated, sharp, drooling dark fluid. Unlike anything they had seen. Not Crimson Dawn. Not even the wave infecteds.

This was new.

And now it was moving west.

"Alert all scout teams," Thomas ordered. "No more patrols until we understand this. Order them to retreat."

"How about her?" Marcus asked, referring to Erika.

Thomas faced a hard decision. He doesn't want to send a full force of his military to rescue a single individual, and since they are facing a new variant, they have to be prepared for whatever might happen, specifically when those new variants start charging towards the MOA Complex.

"Sending a squad to get her out is dangerous, we will advise her to stay hidden until things have calmed down," Thomas replied.

"Understood sir. I thought we are going to abandon her. Well in this line of duty, one would have to face a hard decision on leaving a man behind for the sake of something greater."

"I don't think I am ready to make that decision Marcus," Thomas said, looking at Marcus.