Weapon System in Zombie Apocalypse

The proving grounds behind the MOA Complex stretched across a square kilometer of reinforced tarmac and blast-resistant concrete, a field once reserved for aircraft drills and experimental weapons testing. Today, it had only one purpose.

Goliath stood in the center like a monolith of war.

Painted matte black and rimmed with glowing orange coolant lines, the machine looked more beast than tool. Hydraulic limbs hissed as they flexed, mimicking the range of motion of a human soldier. The railgun mounted on its right arm gleamed under the Manila sun, locked into a folded resting state. A retractable energy shield generator sat on the opposite forearm, still inactive.

Inside the cockpit, Phillip adjusted his seat restraints as his neural interface synced with the machine's motion calibration loop. Unlike traditional mech control systems, the Goliath Unit didn't operate on pure joysticks and buttons—it learned from the pilot's movements, mimicking reflexes and biofeedback.

"Commencing Field Test Alpha," Angel's voice said in his earpiece. "Mobility check. We'll start with a low-speed walk cycle, then transition to sprint and evasive pivot maneuvers. Report feedback anomalies as they occur."

Phillip inhaled slowly, the filtered air inside the cockpit dry and cool.

"Copy that. Goliath moving out."

He pushed forward on the interface yolks.

The machine responded immediately.

One massive foot rose, then fell with a resonant boom that shook the earth.

Another step. Then another.

Inside the cockpit, Phillip felt each vibration as if it were part of his own nervous system—his balance shifting slightly to accommodate each movement.

"Telemetry green," said Sison from Control Tower Two. "Joint servos within acceptable range. No desync spikes."

"Good," Thomas's voice came over comms. "Let's see how it handles the sprint vector."

Phillip pushed the left control paddle forward, initiating the run.

The Goliath surged.

Its legs churned in heavy, rhythmic thuds, each footfall leaving shallow imprints in the concrete as it accelerated to thirty kilometers per hour—no small feat for something that weighed over 50 tons. Pistons hissed like steam vents. Dust billowed behind its armored feet.

"Steering control is tight," Phillip reported. "Gyro balance holding even on rough turns."

"Perfect. Initiate lateral dash test," Angel ordered.

Phillip pulled the right toggle sharply.

Goliath skidded slightly, then executed a precise sidestep—its fusion-powered stabilizers compensating in milliseconds.

It was like piloting a metal predator.

Inside the Command Center, engineers watched in awe as data poured in from dozens of sensors.

"No latency between pilot commands and limb response," one analyst muttered. "The sync ratio is damn near perfect."

Rebecca leaned in. "Phillip's always had an instinct for movement—his old recon unit said he flew like he was part machine."

Thomas folded his arms. "Now he is."

"Mobility test complete," Angel announced. "Proceeding to combat calibration."

A section of the field rose up hydraulically—revealing seven automated Bloomspawn drones, scaled-down but vicious-looking. Each one had been grown from tissue samples taken in Busan and Cairo, then flash-frozen and reanimated in sterile labs for test purposes.

"They'll act semi-random," Angel warned. "You have permission to engage."

"Copy that," Phillip said, gripping the railgun trigger.

The weapon unfolded from its stored state with a metallic snarl, charging with a faint hum. Targeting reticles bloomed across his screen—seven heat signatures, moving fast.

The Bloomspawn dummies scattered.

"Let's see what you bastards can do."

Phillip pulled the trigger.

The railgun's shot cracked through the proving ground like thunder. One of the drones disintegrated instantly—flesh and carapace torn into airborne paste.

Another one leapt forward, bounding on clawed limbs.

Goliath turned. A swipe from its armored left arm crushed the drone mid-air.

"Nice hit," Rebecca murmured.

"Railgun capacitor at seventy percent," a tech added. "Charge time between shots is improving."

Phillip didn't speak. He was moving too fast to narrate.

One drone circled behind him.

He triggered the energy shield.

A pulse of light burst from Goliath's left forearm, forming a shimmering barrier just as the drone pounced. It struck the shield and bounced off, dazed.

Phillip stepped forward and stomped—crushing it with a wet crunch.

"Four remaining," Thomas called.

He didn't need reminding.

Phillip pushed Goliath into a running charge. He slammed into one drone shoulder-first, sending it flying. Another lunged from the right—but he pivoted, fired the railgun mid-turn, and split it in half before it touched the ground.

The last two dummies ran in opposite directions.

Phillip fired once, missed.

No time.

He boosted forward—engines flaring on the machine's calves—and tackled the final Bloomspawn into a wall of reinforced concrete, splattering it like an insect against a windshield.

"Test drones eliminated," Angel confirmed. "Total time: 41 seconds."

The proving ground fell silent.

Phillip exhaled.

"I'm going to need a cigarette after that."

15:00 PM, MOA Complex – Engineering Deck 7

Phillip climbed out of the cockpit with his undersuit clinging to his skin like a second layer. Sweat dripped from his temples. Angel was already waiting with a towel and water bottle.

"That thing doesn't pull punches," he muttered.

"You'll acclimate," she said simply. "Most first-time pilots don't even make it past the sprint phase. You not only survived—you dominated."

Thomas approached, his expression unreadable.

"We're deploying tomorrow," he said.

Rebecca raised an eyebrow. "That soon?"

"The Mecca Bloom Cluster is fully active now. We don't get another chance to engage before it links up with the Sudan outgrowth."

Phillip frowned. "You think it's going to jump continent?"

"It's organizing. That's what you said," Thomas replied. "It's building something global. We either stop it in Mecca or brace for something much worse."

Angel handed Phillip a new tablet—schematics, map overlays, blast radii calculations.

"Mission parameters," she said. "You'll drop with a support team. If you fail, we lose the Arabian corridor."

Phillip scanned the plan, then looked up.

"I won't fail."

Thomas gave a tight nod.

"Good. Rest tonight. Tomorrow, we see if Goliath's more than just a prototype."

21:00 PM, MOA Complex – Barracks

Phillip lay on his bunk, staring at the ceiling fan spinning above him. His muscles ached, but his mind wouldn't quiet.

He remembered Cairo. He remembered the screams. The overwhelming sense of helplessness. Back then, they had nothing. No plan. No armor. No counterweight.

Now… that thing. The Wraith Titan. Watching them.

Evolving.

He thought of the pressure in the cockpit. The way the Goliath moved. How it didn't feel like piloting—it felt like wearing something alive.

There was a strange harmony to it. The way the railgun pulsed with each breath. The HUD adapting in real time to his thoughts. It was more than machinery. It was a mirror. A weaponized reflection of his will to fight back.

He turned on his side, ignoring the pain in his ribs, and muttered aloud:

"Tomorrow, we bury you."

But even as he said it, he wondered—

What if it had already begun to dig graves for them?

And worse still—

What if it was waiting for them to come?

Phillip sat up in bed, the sheets clinging to his sweat-soaked back. The hum of the ceiling fan above did little to calm his nerves. His fingers trembled slightly—not from fear, but from anticipation. Adrenaline still lingered in his veins like a drug, a reminder that the field test was just the beginning.

He rubbed his eyes and stood up, crossing the small barracks room. The mirror over the sink reflected a tired man—not broken, not scared, but different. Hardened. The lines around his eyes were sharper now, his gaze colder than it had been weeks ago. Cairo had aged him. Busan had sharpened him. Goliath had changed him.

He splashed cold water on his face.

Across the hallway, other soldiers stirred. The air was heavy with quiet tension—the kind that settles in before a major operation. No one talked. No one needed to. Everyone knew what tomorrow meant.

A knock sounded at the door.

Phillip turned, grabbing a shirt. "Come in."

It was Angel, holding two steaming mugs.

"Couldn't sleep either?" she asked, handing one to him.

He accepted it with a nod. "How could I?"

She didn't answer. Instead, she walked to the far end of the room and sat on the edge of the cot opposite his.

"The Mecca operation," she said quietly. "It's not like anything we've done before."

"I figured," Phillip replied.

Angel hesitated, then met his eyes. "Satellite scans showed something moving under the bloom. Something big. We don't know if it's mobile or dormant, but we're not calling it a cluster anymore."

Phillip narrowed his eyes. "Then what are we calling it?"

"A heart."

He took a long sip of his coffee, letting the bitter taste ground him.

"You know," she continued, "when we first recovered the exosuit schematics, we weren't even sure humans could interface with something that complex. But you've synced with Goliath better than any simulator predicted. The machine wants you."

Phillip gave a dry chuckle. "That's not creepy at all."

Angel cracked a small smile, then stood. "Rest up. Tomorrow, you're going to war wearing the future."

She left without another word.

Phillip stood alone once more, staring at the door long after it shut.

He turned his gaze to the gear bag sitting under the cot. Inside was the reinforced pilot suit, the neural implants, and the mission tablet Angel gave him.

And under it all—his old recon dog tags.

He picked them up.

Felt their weight in his palm.

It was time to stop running from the nightmares.

It was time to become one.