Weapon System in Zombie Apocalypse

The creature's eyes—if they could be called that—glowed with a sullen, deep-red intensity, twin slits of unnatural light set into a face composed of welded armor, fused bone, and twitching fibers. It didn't blink. It didn't flinch. It simply turned, slowly and deliberately, until its entire body faced the circling aircraft above.

"Is that... intelligent behavior?" one of the recon techs whispered.

Phillip didn't answer. He couldn't. His mouth had gone dry.

The beast stood easily fifteen meters tall, its frame an amalgamation of scrap metal and muscle, with biomass plating riveted like armor into its joints and limbs. Veins of molten orange pulsed beneath its ribcage, pumping something far hotter than blood.

Then it moved.

One step.

The earth shook.

"Pull us back!" Phillip barked. "Get us out of its line of sight!"

The pilot yanked the stick, and Raven Two banked hard left, engines screaming. Below, the creature didn't follow—not with its legs, anyway. Instead, it let out a deep, seismic growl, and the ground behind it surged with motion. Tendrils erupted like spikes, slicing through broken asphalt, reaching skyward as if in pursuit.

"Those are anti-air probes!" the sensor officer shouted. "Get higher! They're tracking heat!"

"I'm on it!" the pilot replied, pushing the aircraft to climb.

The tendrils lashed, nearly grazing the undercarriage. One struck the right winglet, shearing it off like paper.

Alarms blared.

"Stabilizer failure! We've lost pitch control!"

"Dump cargo!" Phillip ordered. "Reduce weight, reroute flight control to trim surfaces!"

The tech behind him obeyed, jettisoning half the recon gear. The aircraft shuddered violently but regained partial control.

"I'm putting us into glide mode," the pilot said. "But we're not going to make it far."

Phillip activated the emergency channel.

"Raven Lead to Command. We're hit. Creature has anti-air capability. Minimal damage, but we're going down in sector Echo-Nine."

Thomas's voice came over the line. "Copy that. Raven Response en route. Sit tight."

As the plane descended, Phillip took one last look at the thing below.

It didn't pursue.

It just watched.

Like it had done exactly what it needed to.

Like it was waiting for the next move.

Riyadh Perimeter – Crash Zone Echo-Nine

Smoke curled into the sandstorm-heavy air as the remains of Raven Two settled in a shallow dune basin. Miraculously, the pilot managed to bring the aircraft down in a controlled belly landing. No fatalities, but the hull was scorched and warped from the electromagnetic bursts.

Phillip kicked open the bay door and stepped onto the desert floor, rifle in hand. The recon team scrambled out behind him, setting up a perimeter using portable drone turrets.

"Any sign of the big guy?" asked Yanez, one of the newer troopers, scanning the horizon.

Phillip adjusted his goggles. "Negative. It's not following. I think it wanted us to leave."

"That… doesn't make sense," Yanez said.

"It's not supposed to," Phillip replied.

Minutes later, a low rumble echoed across the dunes. Everyone tensed—until the shape of a tiltrotor aircraft crested the horizon, flanked by two escort drones.

"Rescue's here," Phillip said. "Let's move."

As the evac team disembarked, one of the Overwatch field officers handed Phillip a tablet. A live feed was streaming from a drone that had picked up a new angle of the creature.

He froze.

The creature wasn't just wandering aimlessly now.

It was standing over the crater—hands outstretched, head tilted skyward.

It was absorbing radiation.

Like it was feeding.

Like it had evolved for it.

MOA Complex – War Room Alpha

Thomas stood at the edge of the table, hands clenched into fists on the steel surface. The footage played on loop: the creature at the epicenter of the Riyadh blast zone, absorbing lingering thermal energy and gamma radiation. Its body visibly glowed brighter with every passing hour.

Rebecca entered, tossing her coat onto a chair. "I don't think we can call it a Bloom Cluster anymore. That's something else entirely."

Casimiro nodded. "It didn't just survive the blast. It adapted to it. That nuclear payload acted like a catalyst."

Thomas exhaled through his nose. "We gave it exactly what it needed to become stronger."

"What do we call it?" Rebecca asked.

Sison looked over from his console. "We're using the codename 'Wraith Titan' for now. Until we know more."

"I want constant surveillance," Thomas ordered. "No blackout windows. I don't care if we need to launch Reapers in shifts. I want eyes on that thing twenty-four-seven."

Rebecca leaned forward. "If it moves?"

"We hit it again," Thomas said. "Harder. And this time, with a bunker-buster. I'll get us a Rod of God from the orbital vault."

Casimiro raised an eyebrow. "We still have access to those?"

"One," Thomas replied. "A tungsten kinetic drop. Pure velocity. No radiation."

"Let's hope one is enough," Rebecca muttered.

MOA Complex – Medical Wing

Phillip sat on the edge of the cot, peeling off his bloodied gloves. The medical scan showed bruising, minor internal stress fractures, and early radiation exposure—treatable, but concerning.

Rebecca entered with a data pad. "You were lucky."

"Luck didn't land us alive. My pilot did," Phillip said, sipping water.

She nodded. "Still… that thing. It's not like anything we've seen."

Phillip leaned forward. "It was waiting for us. It didn't attack. It watched. And it survived a triple missile strike."

"It's evolving past instinct," Rebecca said quietly. "That's what frightens me."

"Not me," Phillip muttered. "What frightens me is what it's planning."

03:00 AM, Riyadh – Bloom Cluster Remnant

It stood alone in the smoking basin, its arms slowly lowering. The crater around it had cooled, but the creature itself burned brighter.

Then it moved.

Slowly.

Deliberately.

West.

Toward Mecca.

Toward another dense biomass network previously classified as dormant.

It wasn't retreating.

It was recruiting.

MOA Complex – Strategic Command Hall

Thomas was already dressed when the alert came in. A crimson warning flashed across the central display: [BLOOM CLUSTER RESURGENCE – MECCA REGION – UNCONFIRMED CONTACT WITH TITAN ENTITY].

He stepped toward the screen, brow furrowed.

"Wake the entire Command Council," he ordered. "We're escalating to Omega Clearance."

Rebecca arrived moments later. "It's happening, isn't it?"

He nodded.

"It's building a network. A mobile one. Not just clusters. A swarm."

She hesitated. "Then we need a new strategy."

Thomas turned to her, expression grim.

"No. We need a new weapon."

09:00 AM, MOA Complex – Black Lab Sublevel

The door hissed open, revealing a room few in Overwatch had ever seen. Black Lab.

Inside, engineers and researchers in black biosuits moved through narrow corridors of glass tanks, glowing servers, and mechanized arms assembling something… new.

A new item from the system.

Standing in the center of the bay was a massive chassis—humanoid in shape, plated in tungsten-black armor, with a railgun built into one arm and a containment field generator on its back.

Angel appeared beside Thomas, holding a datapad.

"You're activating it early," she said flatly.

Thomas looked up at the machine.

"We don't have time to wait."

She nodded. "Project Goliath is operational. But it's never been field-tested. Piloting it will be… dangerous."

"I'll do it myself if I have to," Thomas said.

Angel blinked. "You're serious."

He didn't respond.

Mecca Wastes – Bloom Zone Outskirts

The creature had reached the outer ring of the dormant Bloom Cluster. The biomass there began to stir—slow, like something half-asleep, recognizing a command it hadn't heard in a long time.

It stepped into the mire.

And the mire welcomed it.

MOA Complex – Assembly Hangar

Phillip stood at the railing, staring down at the rising Goliath Unit. The railgun arm clicked into place. The chest plate sealed over a glowing fusion core.

Rebecca stood beside him. "We're deploying a mech now?"

"We're not calling it that," Thomas said from behind them. "We're calling it a counterweight."

Phillip narrowed his eyes. "And who's the pilot?"

Thomas met his gaze.

"You are."

Phillip blinked. "Me?"

"You've flown more recon into the nests than anyone. You've faced the thing and lived. We don't need a trigger-happy gunner. We need someone who understands the enemy."

Phillip hesitated.

Then nodded.

"When do we leave?"

"Now," Thomas said. "It's already on the move."

The gantry cranes withdrew. The final hydraulic hiss sounded like a mechanical sigh.

Phillip climbed into the cockpit, flanked by twin support engineers who checked the last of his biosensors. Inside, the Goliath Unit's interior was tight, almost coffin-like. Wraparound monitors flickered to life. A green line ran across the HUD.

[NEURAL SYNC 1%... 12%... 33%...]

Outside the bay doors, the rest of Overwatch watched in silence. No fanfare. No cheering. Just the hum of readiness. Angel stood beside Thomas at the observation deck.

"He's syncing fast," she noted.

Thomas nodded. "He has to."

[NEURAL SYNC COMPLETE – PILOT ONLINE]

"Phillip," Thomas said over the comms. "You are now the tip of the spear. This won't be like the other missions."

Inside the cockpit, Phillip gripped the twin joysticks, his heartbeat merging with the core's rhythm. He stared ahead, his voice low.

"Then it's time we drive the damn thing straight into its black heart."

The blast doors opened.

Dust and wind swept across the tarmac.

And the Goliath took its first step.

Heavy.