The first thing Thomas noticed when he woke up was warmth—too much of it.
His senses were sluggish, his head heavy, his mouth dry as if he had swallowed sand. A dull ache throbbed in his skull, remnants of the excessive alcohol from the previous night. As he shifted, he felt the unfamiliar weight of multiple limbs draped over him.
Then, his mind slowly started to clear.
He opened his eyes.
The sight that greeted him made his breath hitch. He was lying in the middle of a large bed, surrounded by the mbers of ALAB and RAVE, all tangled up with him in various states of undress. Their soft, steady breaths filled the quiet morning air, so still nestled against his chest, others sprawled over the bed in exhaustion.
What the hell happened last night?
Thomas tried to piece things together, but his mory was foggy. He rembered the dinner, the drinks, the performance… and then things got increasingly hazy. The last solid thing he could recall was Rebecca smirking at him before leaving him to fend for himself.
He let out a slow breath.
He was no fool—he had a good idea of what had likely transpired, given his current predicant. His body felt… different. Invigorated, even. But the specifics were completely lost to him.
Glancing around, he carefully maneuvered out of the entangled limbs without waking anyone. Kai shifted slightly, murmuring sothing in her sleep, but she didn't wake. Minji was curled up on his right, her hand resting lightly on his stomach. Yana had sohow managed to throw a leg over his. And Nina—who had clung to him the most last night—was completely buried under the sheets, only her ssy hair peeking out.
Suppressing a groan, Thomas ran a hand through his disheveled hair and sat up. His body ached in ways that weren't just from exhaustion. His muscles felt looser, but there was an underlying soreness that confird his suspicions.
Alright. No point dwelling on this. There's work to do.
He quickly found his clothes and dressed as quietly as possible. Before leaving, he glanced back at the sleeping idols. The peaceful expressions on their faces were a stark contrast to the horror and stress they had endured just days ago. He wasn't about to fool himself into thinking this was just so ordinary morning-after scenario. The world had changed, and connections—whether emotional or physical—had beco fleeting monts of escape.
Still, he couldn't afford distractions.
The MOA Complex depended on him.
Without another glance, he exited the unit, moving swiftly through the corridors. The sun had barely risen, the early morning light creeping in through the cracks of the ruined cityscape beyond the walls.
His destination: Conrad.
The shower was exactly what he needed.
Standing under the cold water, Thomas braced himself with his hands against the tiled wall, letting the chilled stream wash away the lingering haze. His body felt renewed, and his mind slowly sharpened.
Focus, Thomas. There's too much to do.
As tempting as it was to linger and reflect on last night, he shoved it aside and redirected his thoughts to their next major issue—fuel.
While the system provided them with resources via blood coins, they couldn't afford to rely on it indefinitely. If the MOA Complex was to truly be independent, they needed their own ans of sustaining military operations.
And fuel was at the top of that list.
With their military hardware—including APCs, armored trucks, and newly acquired tanks—they needed a secure and long-term fuel source. Their current supply was dwindling, and without a plan, they would soon find themselves with useless war machines.
They needed refineries, storage depots, or even the possibility of producing their own biofuel.
Marcus can help with this.
Stepping out of the shower, Thomas dried off and dressed quickly. A simple black tactical shirt, cargo pants, and boots—his usual attire.
By the ti he exited his unit, he was completely back in Supre Commander mode.
Thomas entered the command center, where the early-morning operations were already in full swing. Soldiers, logistics teams, and engineers bustled around, checking maps, reviewing supply reports, and monitoring the periter defense systems.
At the center of it all was Marcus, his deputy Chief of Staff.
The man was already hunched over a map, tracing lines across different parts of the tro Manila region.
"Marcus," Thomas called.
Marcus looked up his expression shifting into sothing between amusent and concern.
"Rough night, Supre Commander?"
"Did Rebecca tell you about sothing?"
"She sure did," Marcus chuckled.
Thomas didn't take the bait. "What's the status of our fuel supply?"
Marcus sobered instantly, gesturing toward the map. "We're running low. At our current rate of consumption, we have maybe two weeks' worth before we hit critical levels."
Thomas frowned. "And after that?"
"We can simply purchase tonnes of fuel from the system shop but that would be impractical when we can find a major source around the country, which is what I am working on."
Perfect timing, Thomas was about to brought that up.
"I have an idea of a location, it's in Bataan."
Thomas's words made Marcus pause for a mont before nodding in understanding. He tapped his finger on the map, right where the Bataan Oil Refinery was located.
"Good call," Marcus said. "The refinery was one of the largest in the country before the collapse. If we can secure it, we'll have a long-term fuel supply. But…" He exhaled, his expression tightening. "It's a long shot. We have zero intel on what's out there. The place could be crawling with the dead, or worse—hostile survivor factions."
"I don't think there will be survivor factions in the area, it's not like the apocalypse had been going on for years. We have to secure the oil refinery before every oil in there get stale…they stale right?"
Marcus chuckled, shaking his head. "Diesel and gasoline have shelf lives, yeah. They degrade over ti. But as you have said, it hasn't been a year or months so we can definitely assure ourselves that every oil there is usable."
"Very well, let's get to work. I am going in, along with Phillip and his team. It's going to be a recon mission first, to find out what's out there and conduct a threat assessnt. If we can take it, we will take it."
"And even if you think that it can be taken by you and the special forces, we still have to expect there would be mutated zombies in there. And the only way we can help you is close air support. I have to remind you that we are still constructing the runway so we won't be able to send an AC-130 or a Warthog."
"An Apache would do," Thomas said.
"Very well sir."
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