Modern Weapon System in the Zombie Apocalypse

The descent toward Shinonome Dam began under a sky of bruised gray. The wind howled through the trees, carrying flecks of snow that glittered like ash. Riku led the group down the mountain path, boots crunching against frost and gravel. Behind him came Suzune, Ichika, and the small group of survivors they'd picked up—faces pale, clothes ragged, eyes hollow from days without sleep.

The path wound through what used to be a maintenance road. Bent guardrails lined the cliff's edge, twisted from landslides and age. Below, the dam stretched across the valley like a scar—massive concrete walls darkened by moss and rain, flanked by half-collapsed turbines and steel scaffolding. It was a monument to another time—when power still ran, when lights still meant civilization.

Riku slowed to a stop, scanning the view through his binoculars. "No movement," he murmured. "But I see smoke. West side, near the spillway."

Ichika adjusted her rifle strap. "Campfire or generator?"

"Could be either," Suzune said. "Could be both."

"Or bait," Ichika added. "Wouldn't be the first."

Riku lowered the binoculars. "We won't know until we're closer."

They moved again, keeping low and quiet. Every sound—their breath, the scrape of boots, the shifting of gear—felt amplified by the silence. Even the wind seemed to hesitate when they reached the perimeter fence.

The gate had been torn open long ago, chain links bent outward like claws. A faded government sign swung loosely, the letters almost unreadable.

SHINONOME HYDROELECTRIC FACILITY – RESTRICTED AREA.

Beneath it, someone had scrawled with charcoal:"WE SURVIVED HERE. THEN WE DIDN'T."

Ichika eyed it and muttered, "Well that's comforting."

Riku ignored her. He gestured for the others to follow and pushed through the gate.

The facility grounds were a graveyard of machinery. Rusted cranes leaned over the dam's lip. Trucks sat half-buried in snow, doors hanging open. The main control building—an angular structure of gray concrete and shattered glass—stood like a watchtower overlooking the reservoir below.

As they approached, Riku raised his fist. "Stop."

A faint hum drifted through the air.

Suzune froze. "You hear that?"

"Yeah," he said quietly. "Power. There's still current running."

"That's impossible," Ichika whispered. "The grid's dead."

Riku touched a gloved hand to the nearby fence—then jerked it back. "It's live."

Suzune blinked. "Someone's maintaining it."

"Or something's auto-running," Ichika muttered. "Old system loops."

"Either way," Riku said, "someone's been here recently."

They reached the front entrance of the control building. The double doors were reinforced steel, one slightly ajar. A trail of footprints—old but human—led inside.

Riku motioned for silence, then pushed the door open.

The interior was dark. Their flashlights cut through the gloom, revealing overturned desks, broken monitors, and the faint glint of dried blood smeared across the walls. Papers littered the floor—maintenance logs, ration manifests, and a faded map of the facility tacked to a board.

Ichika crouched beside the map. "Looks like there's an underground level. Substation tunnels, control rooms, storage."

Riku nodded. "We'll check them one at a time. Suzune, with me. Ichika—watch the rear."

As they moved deeper into the facility, the air grew colder. Condensation hung in the beam of Riku's flashlight, swirling with each breath. The hum of the turbines grew louder beneath their feet—a rhythmic vibration, faint but constant.

Suzune paused by a doorway. "This room's powered," she whispered.

Inside, a row of monitors flickered weakly. Half the screens were dead, but one still glowed with static. Riku approached, brushing off the dust. The display showed faint green text scrolling across the screen:

SYSTEM ACTIVE – LOCAL GRID ISOLATED.AUTOMATED DEFENSE MODE: ON.SUBJECTS REMAINING: 3.

Suzune frowned. "Subjects?"

Ichika leaned over his shoulder. "That's not ominous at all."

Riku typed on the dusty keyboard, but most keys were dead. Only a few responded with lagged beeps. "System's fragmented. Can't access logs."

"Then we find where those 'subjects' are," Suzune said.

They descended a stairwell that led to the lower maintenance tunnels. The walls were damp, streaked with mineral stains. Faint light bled through cracks in the ceiling, flickering like candlelight. The deeper they went, the more oppressive the air became—thick, stale, electric.

Then they heard it.

A voice. Faint, metallic, distorted through speakers overhead.

"…—lo?—anyone—there…?—control—room…"

Suzune froze. "That's coming from the intercom."

Riku turned to Ichika. "Radio. Channel sweep."

She twisted the dial. Static… then, faintly:

"—facility breached—containment—failed—don't—open—"

The message looped, cutting in and out.

Riku's gut tightened. "Recorded."

"From when?" Suzune asked.

"Doesn't matter. Whatever they failed to contain—it might still be here."

Ichika smirked weakly. "Well, that's great news."

They pressed on, rifles raised.

The hallway split in two. One path led toward the turbine chambers; the other, marked SUBJECT STORAGE, descended deeper into the dark.

Suzune's eyes narrowed. "You want to check the obvious death trap, don't you?"

"Yeah," Riku said.

Ichika sighed. "Of course you do."

The SUBJECT STORAGE door was sealed by a heavy electronic lock, its small control panel still flickering. Riku knelt, prying the cover off and bridging two wires with his knife. Sparks spat, and the lock clanked open.

The smell hit them first—metal, mildew, and something faintly rotten.

Inside were glass pods, lined in two rows along the chamber walls. Most were shattered, their contents spilled and long dried. The floor was littered with broken glass and rust-colored stains.

Suzune stepped closer, wiping frost from one of the intact pods.

Inside lay a body—or something close to one. The skin was pale, almost translucent, veins dark as oil. Metal shards jutted from the arms and spine like implanted armor.

Ichika whistled softly. "Looks like your big friend on the ridge had family."

"Experimentation," Riku muttered. "They were testing mutations."

Suzune's jaw tightened. "Government facility, remember? Maybe they tried to weaponize the infected."

Riku's flashlight passed over a clipboard on the floor. Most of the paper had decayed, but one line was still legible:

PROJECT HARBOR – PHASE III – Human Integration Trials.

He stared at it for a long moment. "They weren't just weaponizing them. They were merging them."

Ichika muttered, "Because why not play god during the apocalypse?"

A sound broke the silence—a metallic clang from somewhere deeper in the chamber.

Everyone froze.

Then came the hiss of air. A pod near the far wall began to move.

Steam vented from the edges, followed by a deep, wet gasp.

Riku raised his rifle instantly. "Contact!"

The pod door burst open, glass shattering. Something crawled out—taller than a man, thin and gaunt, its flesh lined with embedded metal. Its mouth hung open, emitting a low mechanical whine.

Suzune fired first. The bullet tore through its shoulder, spinning it sideways—but it kept moving.

"Down!" Riku shouted.

They opened fire together. Rounds struck its torso, sparks flying where metal met flesh. It lunged forward, too fast for something that broken. Riku slammed a grenade into its chest and kicked it back toward the pod. The explosion lit the chamber white.

When the smoke cleared, the creature was gone—only the lower half remained, fused to melted metal.

Ichika coughed. "Well. That answers what the 'subjects' were."

Suzune checked her magazine. "We need to go. Now."

Riku nodded. "Grab what you can. Data, notes, anything."

They tore a hard drive from the console and shoved it into Riku's pack before retreating up the stairwell. The hum beneath their feet grew louder now, deeper, rhythmic—like something alive inside the dam's core.

When they reached the surface, the daylight felt unreal after the darkness below.

The survivors were waiting by the truck, weapons drawn. Emi ran forward. "We heard explosions!"

Riku nodded, breathing hard. "Facility's compromised. Whatever they made down there—it's still active."

Suzune climbed into the truck. "Then we're not staying."

Ichika hesitated, glancing back at the dam. "We could shut it down. Kill whatever's powering those systems."

Riku looked back too—the smoke rising from the turbines, the faint hum that still pulsed through the air. It wasn't just electricity. It was something deeper. Something alive.

"Not yet," he said finally. "We need to regroup. Plan it right."

As the truck rumbled to life and turned toward the valley road, Suzune sat beside him, silent. The others huddled in the back, watching the dam shrink into the distance.

"Do you think they're all gone?" she asked quietly.

Riku's hands tightened on the wheel. "No. Not all."

Behind them, the faint hum deepened into a steady pulse.

Beneath the surface of Shinonome Dam, lights flickered back on one by one.A mechanical voice whispered through the empty halls:

"Containment protocol: reinitializing."

The turbines groaned, and the water below began to churn.

A thin plume of steam rose from a ruptured pipe somewhere deep inside, spilling into the winter air like breath from a buried beast. Far below, the spillway gates shuddered, metal protesting after too many silent years. Warning lights—dim, red, stubborn—began to blink along the catwalks. In the distance, the speaker system crackled again, searching for receivers that no longer existed, for guards that were long dead. The truck, small against the white valley, rolled away toward the forest.

Shinonome Dam watched them go.And in its cold, concrete belly, something old began to wake.