anwhile, at the MOA Complex, Conrad Hotel.
Thomas was in the command center, sitting at the head of the table as he was playing with a rubik's cube that he had gotten from the toy shop at the MOA shopping center. As he was imrsed in playing it, he was interrupted by the young officer working in it.
"Sir," a young operator said, removing his headset and turning toward the center of the room. "We just received an encrypted distress transmission… It's from Bataan."
That single word changed everything.
Across the room, Thomas Estaris, dressed in his usual black tactical uniform with Overwatch insignia over his chest, slowly turned his head.
He had been leaning over a steel table, but now he stood fully upright.
"Put it on screen. Now," he said.
The operator didn't hesitate. Fingers flew across the keyboard.
The wall-mounted screen lit up.
Reaper One-One's live feed ca into view—hovering in thermal mode over General De Vera's military compound.
Everyone in the room froze.
The screen displayed a nightmare.
The base was burning—columns of black smoke pouring into the sky from multiple fires. The fuel depot had been reduced to a crater of fla. Barracks collapsed, gunfire flashed from rooftops, and shapes—dozens, maybe hundreds of them—moved erratically through the smoke.
Infected.
Aerial markers confird it, zombies pouring through breaches in the north and west sectors. There were even visuals of unard civilians running in all directions, so being torn down near the ss hall.
Another cara switched—thermal imaging revealed groups of soldiers trying to hold their ground near the armory. Their movents were disjointed. Formation was lost.
Thomas stepped closer, face hardening. His voice dropped into command tone.
"Operator. Patch through to Bataan command. Priority override. General De Vera, now."
"Yes, sir."
The operator worked quickly, fingers racing.
"We're attempting handshake with their encrypted relay… establishing drone signal bounce… verifying Overwatch protocol key..."
Thomas stood still as a statue.
Behind him, Phillip approached quietly, eyes also locked on the burning camp.
"This wasn't a breach," Phillip muttered. "This was a goddamn execution."
Thomas slowly turned his head toward Phillip, his eyes still fixed on the live drone feed.
"Why do you think so?"
Phillip's jaw was tight. His voice was low, deliberate.
"Because I personally inspected their security asures. They're all solid. De Vera's periter is textbook—layered fences, reinforced gate systems, staggered patrols, infrared tripwires. A breach that size? That fast?" He shook his head. "It doesn't add up."
Thomas stared at the screen. He watched as two soldiers were dragged down behind a collapsed vehicle. One tried to fight, swinging wildly with a rifle stock. The other never even scread.
The overhead thermal feed from Reaper One-One showed movent everywhere—heat signatures writhing through hallways, slamming into barricades. More than a hundred infected inside the periter. Possibly more.
Phillip stepped forward.
"It's not just a breach. It's a full collapse from within. No alarms until the chaos started. That only happens two ways: total systems failure... or soone opened the gates."
Thomas gave a slow nod. "And De Vera's not the kind of man to sleep through a systems failure."
"No, sir."
"Then soone let them in."
The command room went quiet.
No one dared speak.
Only the hum of the air-conditioning and the soft static of Reaper's feed filled the room.
Thomas turned his eyes back to the operator. "How long since we lost contact with their periter towers?"
"First external signal disruption logged… twenty-three minutes ago. Gate 3 and Gate 5 went dark simultaneously. North cara feed cut next, followed by the entire Sector 2 grid. Their relay tower's offline. Only reason we still have visuals is because of Reaper's uplink."
Phillip stepped to Thomas's side. "It wasn't just sabotage. This was coordinated."
Thomas stared at the fire blooming near the fuel depot.
"What's the response status from inside?"
The operator shook his head. "Minimal resistance left. Thermal shows so concentration near the command block, but they're boxed in. Western corridors are gone. Civilians overrun. Scattered holdouts near the garage and infirmary."
Another official in the room, Marcus, cursed under his breath. "They're finished."
Thomas didn't flinch.
"Not yet they're not."
He turned sharply toward the table and tapped the surface twice. The screen switched to command controls. Thomas leaned in and pressed a code into the panel.
"Get De Vera. Right now. Give direct voice uplink through drone relay. I don't care if you have to reroute through ten satellites."
"Yes, sir!"
Thomas folded his arms and waited as the operator worked. Behind him, Phillip remained stone-faced, watching the flas eat through the base. He noticed sothing odd—shapes moving that didn't act like the infected they'd studied.
They weren't shambling.
They weren't even running.
So of them were… coordinated.
But Phillip said nothing—yet.
The screen finally flickered.
"Connection stabilized. Audio only."
A loud crack of gunfire broke through the speakers, followed by static.
Then ca a voice.
"—MOA Complex, this is General De Vera—copy?"
Thomas stepped forward. "General. This is Thomas Estaris. We're reading you through Reaper One-One."
"Jesus… Thomas. We're getting chewed up."
"What's your status?"
"Command block still holding. I've got twenty n and one APC with limited rounds. Every other sector is gone. The ss hall exploded. Barracks flooded. Gates were breached—maybe tampered with. I don't know who's alive anymore."
"Do you have wounded?"
"All over. So are barricaded in the d wing. They've stopped responding."
"Confird infection?"
"Yes."
Thomas exhaled slowly. "General De Vera, I have a Reaper drone flying overhead right now. We can use it to thin down the numbers of the zombies in your camp, but that would an…decommissioning your base and all of the survivors in this attack be transported to our complex."
There was a long pause on the line.
On the screen, the thermal feed showed more infected flooding in. One soldier sprinted across a walkway only to be dragged down by two figures moving with unnatural precision—too fast, too focused. One had barbed wire wrapped around its arms.
General De Vera's voice returned—strained, breathing heavy.
"…Say again, Actual."
"If I authorize Reaper One-One to thin the horde, we'll be forced to treat your base as a contaminated hot zone. That ans fire missions, drone strikes—scorched earth protocols."
"I have wounded here," De Vera said sharply. "Civilians. Families."
"You have twenty n, General. One APC. Limited rounds. You're not pushing them out. Best-case scenario, you hold until sunrise. Worst case…"
"We're the last ones they eat," De Vera finished grimly.
"Yes."
More silence.
Phillip stood nearby, watching the data feeds with narrowed eyes. He had pulled up heat maps—sothing was off. The infected weren't behaving like the usual swarm. They were moving in small groups, coordinated, as if being guided. But for now, he said nothing.
De Vera's voice ca back, flat and iron.
"I want my people out. Those still breathing. You can bring your birds in. Whatever you've got. But I want evac priority for my wounded."
Thomas nodded once, knowing De Vera couldn't see it.
"You have it."
"Copy. I'll prep my people. You better not keep us waiting."
The line cut.
Thomas turned to the operator. "Patch targeting uplink to Reaper One-One. Authorize selective strikes. No warheads inside the command block. Limit area effect to corridors near the motor pool, dical wing, and exterior fences."
"Affirmative, sir."
Phillip, you and your Shadow Team will be launching in ten. I want eyes on that base and boots down within the hour."
"Yes, sir."
Thomas continued. "Your job is insertion and extraction. Once you are inside, secure the command block and get De Vera's people out. But I want answers, too. Whoever did this—whoever walked those things through the gates—find them."
Phillip nodded. "You think they're still inside?"
Thomas looked back at the screen.
It showed a courtyard strewn with bodies—both soldiers and civilians. In the middle, sothing was written on the concrete in blood, barely legible from Reaper's height.
But it was there.
A symbol. A circle. And at its center… a sun.
Reviews
All reviews (0)