Weapon System in Zombie Apocalypse

The war room was quieter than usual, but the silence carried weight. The Bloom nest in Mecca was gone, annihilated by the Goliath and the Wraith Titan's core detonation. The basin was sealed. The Obelisk Vault had been exposed. Revelations about pre-Zero Hour conspiracies had shaken even the most stoic veterans.

But none of it compared to what they now saw on the global uplink.

Thomas stood at the center of the newly reinforced command tent, eyes locked on a massive holomap that spanned most of the known world. Bloom infestation zones had once been concentrated—pockets spreading like ink in water. But Europe was now solid red.

Angel highlighted the zones with sweeping gestures from her terminal.

"Eastern Asia is secure. The Middle East is under lockdown. Africa is holding. But Europe…"

She tapped a glowing point. Then another. And another.

"Paris. Berlin. Warsaw. Rome. Vienna. Prague. Madrid. Gone."

The lights dimmed slightly as the system recalibrated with updated satellite thermal scans from Valkyrie One.

"There are no survivors," she said quietly.

Rebecca, standing to the side in light armor, narrowed her eyes. "None?"

Angel shook her head. "Every single known stronghold was overrun. Civilian transmission ceased. Whatever was left went dark."

A hollow silence settled over the room.

Casimiro muttered, "It's a graveyard."

Thomas didn't flinch. "No. It's a battlefield. We're just the next wave."

Phillip stepped into the tent.

Thomas glanced at them both, then looked back to the table.

"Then this is what we do. We level the continent."

He turned to Angel. "How many thermobaric payloads do we have left?"

"Nineteen primed. Sixteen more in production. Valkyrie One, Two, and Three are all armed and in orbit. Each bird can hit six targets within an hour."

"That gives us over a hundred city-killer strikes if we spread them right," Thomas said. "That's enough to clean-sweep every Bloom heartland between the Atlantic and Belarus."

He stepped forward, placing both hands on the table.

"Then let's begin."

—

Valkyrie One – High Orbit Over Western Europe

The black-winged B-2 Bomber circled in silence above the stratosphere, far beyond the reach of Bloom towers or infected drones. Below, the continent stretched like a smothered fire—dark, cratered, with scar tissue made of melted cities.

Phillip stood behind the operations console inside Valkyrie's command deck. Thomas stood beside him, hands behind its back, silent and still, as if thinking of something.

"Target package uploaded," Angel said from Overwatch HQ. "You're clear to initiate Phase One."

Phillip turned toward the deployment officer. "Open the doors."

Hydraulic clamps hissed as bomber's undercarriage split apart.

Inside, nine cruise missiles hung like steel sabers—each tipped with a classified Overwatch thermobaric warhead, each programmed to detonate with enough force to vaporize entire Bloom nests in a thousand-meter radius.

"Targets," Phillip said.

The digital display lit up with nine glowing dots.

"Paris. Lyon. Brussels. Cologne. Milan. Munich. Vienna. Krakow. Prague."

"Missiles away in ten seconds," said the officer.

"Burn it clean."

The clamps released.

One by one, the missiles dropped.

And then the sky began to fall.

—

Paris, France – Ground Zero

The city had long ceased to resemble anything of civilization. The Eiffel Tower was now half-consumed by fungal coral, twisted into a grotesque spine of metal and rot. Bloomspore clouds drifted in slow pulses over the river Seine. There were no cars, no people, only twisted mockeries of both—bodies cocooned to buildings, vehicles fused with biomass.

The missile struck the tower first.

The explosion wasn't fiery—it was a white-hot surge of overpressure, heat, and oxygen vacuum that flattened ten kilometers in every direction. The blast vaporized biomass instantly. Bloom towers collapsed inward. Heat waves shattered windows all the way to the outer arrondissements.

What remained of Paris became a crater of ash.

Seconds later, Milan followed.

Then Munich.

Then Prague.

—

Overwatch HQ – Live Feed Room

"Strike confirmation on six of nine targets," Angel called out.

"Update from Vienna?"

"Delayed detonation—missile three took flak on descent. But core still detonated. We've got seismic confirmation and tower collapse visuals."

Thomas nodded. "Begin recalibration for Phase Two."

He turned to Rebecca. "Anything moving after impact?"

She tapped her console. "Nothing coordinated. Bloomspawn are dispersing. Losing neural cohesion in every hit zone. Whatever those towers were doing—they needed command structures. We just decapitated half the continent."

Casimiro let out a low whistle. "That's one hell of a headshot."

"Still not enough," Thomas said. "We need to press."

—

Mobile Forward Command, Deployed Near Geneva

They built the mobile base in the ruins of what had once been a Swiss Army bunker. Shielded with scavenged Obelisk plating, retrofitted with Overwatch uplinks, and guarded by Goliath sentries, it was the first permanent human footprint in Europe since the collapse.

Angel stood in the war room, reporting about what she had discovered and researched.

"I've finished mapping residual Bloom nodes," she said. "Probability of resurgence in Eastern Europe: 67%. Southern France: 49%. Recommend immediate eradication sweep."

Thomas nodded. "Any Vaults in those zones?"

"Only one—Vault Omega in Slovakia. Records show partial data but unclear status. Satellite recon is blocked."

"We check it anyway," Thomas said. "Prep a recon bird."

Rebecca leaned against the table. "The air's toxic in most of Slovakia. You'll need a drone team."

"We've got drones," Phillip said. "Reaper One-Two can make the flight."

Thomas turned to Angel. "Get us a clean data line. And prep more birds. I want thirty more missiles built by next week."

Angel blinked. "Thirty?"

"We're not stopping at nine cities," Thomas said coldly. "We're burning every last Bloom nest. Field, town, ridge, mountain, forest. Until this continent breathes again."

—

All Overwatch channels switched to a unified signal.

"This is Commander Thomas Estaris of Overwatch Command. This message is for any survivor across the world, any human enclave still listening, still breathing."

He paused.

"We have reclaimed the Middle East. We have cleansed Asia. And now, the soil of Europe is ours again."

The camera panned slowly across flattened Bloom fields where Paris once stood. Then to the Geneva basin, now scrubbed clean.

"We fought with missiles. With machines. With fire. We mourn what we lost—but this is not a war for the past. It is a war for tomorrow."

The feed returned to Thomas.

"If you're out there… come home. There is hope."

He stepped aside.

And with inhuman calm, it spoke.

"Next target: North America."

***

Two months later.

The silence in the command deck was colder than the frozen clouds below. The black silhouette of B-2 Bombers pierced the upper stratosphere as it banked southeast toward the northeastern seaboard of the former United States.

Inside the operations chamber, Thomas sat beside Phillip and Rebecca, staring at the digital map. The red hue that once consumed Europe had now spread over North America. From Nova Scotia to Baja California, Bloom clusters pulsed like malignant hearts.

"Target list is ready," Angel confirmed over uplink. "First wave: Boston. New York City. Philadelphia. Baltimore. Washington D.C. All verified Red Zones. No human signal detected in over 40 days."

"Urban zones only," Thomas ordered. "Maximize biomass destruction. Leave rural nodes for drone cleanup."

"Coordinates locked," the officer replied. "Missile bays open."

The warheads slid forward from B-2's belly—sleek, unpainted, humming with latent annihilation.

Phillip glanced at the display. "New York's going to be rough. That whole Bloom hive's been feeding on the Atlantic currents."

"Don't care, so long as we exterminate zombies, we will win this war against the undeads," Thomas said before raising his hand.

"Fire."

The first missile dropped—spiraling downward toward Manhattan.

Then four more followed, arcing toward the eastern seaboard like metal angels of death.

New York City – Ground Zero

The city was unrecognizable. The skyline once defined by glass and steel now bent under alien weight. Spires of biomass jutted from the East River like cancerous obelisks. Central Park was no longer a green space—it was a churning, spore-belching maw.

Then came the light.

A searing white bloom of heat and shock flattened everything from Harlem to Wall Street. Bloom towers disintegrated mid-pulse. The Atlantic swelled from the force, water vaporized into superheated steam clouds that choked the shoreline.

The strike was so complete, so brutal, that even the air changed.

The next ones hit seconds later.

Philadelphia's sprawl crumpled like paper. Washington's Bloom root—wrapped around the Lincoln Memorial—melted into ash. Boston vanished beneath a rolling inferno.

Baltimore's Hive Core let out a visible energy pulse as it died, sending tendrils retracting for miles in every direction.

"Impact confirmed," Angel announced. "Five for five. No countermeasure detected. No residual movement."

Thomas exhaled. "Mark zones for re-entry. Schedule Reaper flights for site verification."

He stood and faced the others.

"We've just turned North America into a graveyard. And we're not done."

Phillip nodded grimly. "Then we keep bombing them, until there are no undeads. I can feel that we are an inch closer to reclaiming the whole world."

"Recommend immediate preparation for second wave. San Francisco. Los Angeles. Houston. Chicago. Denver."

Thomas narrowed his eyes.

"Burn them all."