The MOA Complex was alive with murmurs and speculation. From every corner of the settlent, civilians were called to gather at the SMX Convention Center. No explanation had been given, only that the Supre Commander had an announcent to make.
It was rare for Thomas Estaris to address the entire community like this. People whispered among themselves, wondering what could be so important.
Inside the SMX Convention Center, hundreds of survivors filled the vast hall. Workers from the food distribution units, engineers, chanics, dical staff, and patrol guards—all stood shoulder to shoulder, waiting.
At the front of the room, a makeshift stage had been set. In the center of it stood five n—bound, bruised, and stripped of their weapons and belongings.
The criminals.
The ones who had tried to take advantage of ALAB and RAVE.
They stood with their heads lowered, their hands bound behind their backs. The weight of their cris was clear in their eyes, yet Scarface, their ringleader, still had remnants of defiance in his expression.
Then, the murmurs died down.
The doors at the back of the room opened, and Thomas walked in.
The Supre Commander made his way toward the stage, his posture calm but authoritative. The people parted for him instinctively, their eyes filled with curiosity and anticipation.
As he ascended the steps, he turned to face the crowd.
Silence.
Everyone was waiting.
Then, Thomas spoke.
"So of you may be wondering why I've gathered you here," his voice echoed through the hall. "Let be clear—this is not just a eting. This is a lesson."
He gestured toward the prisoners behind him.
"These n, standing before you, are criminals," he continued, his tone unwavering. "Last night, they attacked four of our own. They cornered them, trapped them in an alley, and had every intention of violating them."
Gasps rippled through the crowd. So covered their mouths in shock, others clenched their fists in anger.
"These won—who have worked alongside you, who have shared food and shelter with you—were nearly taken by force. And for what?" Thomas let his words linger. "Because these n thought they were entitled to them? Because they believed that strength alone gave them the right to take what they wanted?"
His gaze swept over the crowd, eyes burning with conviction.
"This is the MOA Complex. This is our ho. And in this ho, we have laws. We have order." His voice hardened. "Anyone who thinks they can prey on others… anyone who believes they can act without consequences… will be punished."
The tension in the air was thick.
Scarface sneered, shaking his head. "This is bullshit," he muttered, just loud enough for the nearest people to hear.
Thomas turned to him, his gaze sharp. "What did you say?"
Scarface lifted his chin, eyes flashing. "You think you can play God, kid? This place isn't a governnt. It's just a glorified camp." He looked around at the crowd. "You people really think he can protect you forever? That these rules an anything when the rest of the world is burning?"
A murmur ran through the audience, uncertainty flickering in so eyes.
Thomas exhaled slowly. Then, he stepped closer to Scarface, his voice lower but filled with steel.
"Rules only an sothing if people enforce them." He glanced at the audience, making sure everyone could hear. "You think you're above them? That survival ans doing whatever the hell you want?" His expression darkened. "You're wrong."
He turned back to the crowd.
"These n are banned from the MOA Complex. Effective imdiately." His tone left no room for argunt.
Rebecca, standing near the side, raised a hand. At her signal, guards stepped forward.
Scarface's face finally paled. "Wait—"
"You said it yourself," Thomas interrupted, staring down at him. "There's no governnt. No real law. That ans we decide what justice looks like."
The guards yanked the prisoners forward, dragging them toward the exit.
Thomas watched as they struggled.
Scarface twisted violently. "No, no, NO! You can't—YOU CAN'T JUST THROW US OUT THERE!"
One of the younger criminals, a skinny man with sunken eyes, dropped to his knees. "Please! Don't do this! We'll die out there!" His voice cracked.
Thomas's expression didn't change. "You should've thought about that before."
With a final nod, he stepped down from the stage, following the guards as they led the prisoners to the main gate.
The entire crowd followed in silence.
At the periter gate, a cold wind blew through the air. The afternoon sun was beginning to set, casting long shadows across the ground.
The five criminals stood just beyond the threshold, their weapons, food, and gear stripped away. They had nothing. No supplies. No protection.
Beyond the complex walls, the world was unforgiving.
Scarface stood frozen, his fists clenched. He still wanted to fight, still wanted to push back, but deep down, he knew there was nothing he could do.
Gideon, one of the soldiers who had saved the girls, stood next to Thomas.
"They won't make it far," Gideon muttered.
"They don't deserve to," Thomas responded.
The gate creaked open.
Scarface turned one last ti, desperation in his eyes. "You're making a mistake."
Thomas didn't reply.
Rebecca gave the final command. "Get them out of here."
The guards shoved them forward.
The five n stumbled outside.
The gate slamd shut behind them.
And just like that, they were gone.
The survivors inside watched, their faces unreadable. No one spoke.
Then, slowly, they began to disperse.
The ssage had been received.
Law had been established.
And those who broke it would face the consequences.
Scarface and his group wandered aimlessly through the ruined streets beyond the MOA Complex. The city was a graveyard—abandoned cars, broken windows, and the occasional distant moan of the dead.
"What the hell do we do now?" one of the n whispered.
Scarface was still seething, his mind racing for a way to survive.
"We find weapons. We find shelter," he growled. "Then, we—"
A sound.
A low, guttural growl.
Then—another.
One by one, figures erged from the ruins.
Dozens.
Their rotting eyes locked onto the fresh prey in front of them.
Scarface's face drained of color.
"No," he whispered.
The first zombie lurched forward.
Then another.
Then all of them.
"RUN!" soone scread.
But it was too late.
The undead sward them.
Screams echoed through the ruined streets.
And just like that—
The criminals were gone.
Devoured.
The MOA Complex had no room for monsters.
Because the outside world was already full of them.
The echoes of their screams lingered in the air for a mont before fading into silence. Blood splattered across the pavent as the undead tore into the n, their hunger insatiable. Scarface, the once-proud leader, was the last to fall, his desperate cries drowned out by the wet, tearing sounds of flesh being ripped apart.
Inside the MOA Complex, Thomas stood at the periter wall, watching through a set of binoculars. He hadn't moved since the gate had shut. Rebecca stood beside him, her arms crossed.
"They didn't last long," she muttered.
Thomas exhaled, lowering the binoculars. "They never would have."
The punishnt had been carried out, justice served in the only way the new world allowed. The survivors who had witnessed the banishnt would spread the word—there were no second chances for predators in the MOA Complex.
He turned back toward the settlent, his expression unreadable. "Let's make sure this never happens again."
Rebecca nodded, understanding the weight of his words. "I'll have patrols increased. And we'll start reinforcing the laws with public awareness."
Thomas gave a final glance toward the ruined streets beyond the walls before walking away.
Order had been established.
And now, he had a city to build.
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