Weapon System in Zombie Apocalypse-Chapter 152: Rest Part 1

After everything they had been through—the Bloom Nests, the screaming pods, the resurrected rat—Thomas Estaris needed a break.

Not the kind that came with reports or briefings, not even a moment alone in his office. He needed something normal. Something that reminded him that the world hadn't entirely fallen apart.

So when Phillip pinged him over comms with a simple message—"You in?"—Thomas didn't even ask what it was about. He just showed up.

The MOA Complex's Arena Level had been converted months ago into more than just a fortified stronghold. A section of the Arena had been reclaimed, repurposed into a slice of what the old world used to be. It was one of the rare parts of the complex that didn't smell like bleach, oil, or scorched flesh.

Here, it smelled like popcorn. And grilled hotdogs.

Thomas walked the polished hallway with his hands in his pockets, breathing in that warm, greasy scent. The lights were soft. The shops were quiet. The signs flickered with actual neon. Someone even rigged one of the old mall speakers to loop relaxing lo-fi music.

It felt surreal.

Phillip was waiting near the movie theater, holding two tickets and a plastic bag of overpriced snacks. "Hope you still like sci-fi garbage," he said.

Thomas snorted. "The world is sci-fi garbage now."

"Exactly. It's called Terraformers. Got drones, betrayal, weird alien fungus. Thought it'd feel familiar."

They stepped into the cinema together. No crowds, just a handful of civilians quietly spaced out across the room, munching on snacks and enjoying the cold air-conditioning. The room dimmed, the screen lit up, and for the next two hours, they let themselves forget.

There were explosions. Sentient spores. A mech with a flamethrower arm. And a final shot where the hero flew into the sun just to kill the alien hive.

Thomas leaned back with a grin. "Ten out of ten. No notes."

"Plot made zero sense," Phillip replied, but he was smiling too.

They left the theater laughing, something Thomas hadn't done in weeks.

Outside, the arcade lights glowed warm and colorful. Machines blinked to life as kids and teenagers played rhythm games and air hockey. A claw machine in the corner had teddy bears and old Overwatch patches in it.

Phillip made a beeline to the Time Crisis machine. "Come on. You owe me a rematch. Last time we played, you died at the chopper scene."

"You cheated," Thomas said, picking up the plastic gun anyway.

"Says the guy who kicked the machine when he lost."

They played for twenty solid minutes. Laughing. Shooting. Swearing at each other in hushed tones when they missed a shot or accidentally let a civilian get killed.

Thomas beat him by one level.

Phillip was salty about it.

"Rigged," he muttered as they stepped out into the main atrium.

And then they heard it.

Music. Real music.

The main stage, normally used for ration announcements or public safety updates, had been set up for something else today. Colorful lights. A decent sound system. People—teenagers, young adults, even families—gathered around the open area near the fountain.

On the stage, a group of young men were dancing with synchronized precision, matching every beat of the pop anthem blasting through the speakers. The crowd clapped along, cheering.

"Alab," Thomas said, recognizing them from the files. "They were a rising P-pop group before the outbreak. I didn't know they were still here."

"They're here alright," Phillip said. "Kept training in secret. Their manager's a hardass. Even got approval to keep doing public performances, morale boosters."

They stood near the edge of the crowd, watching as Alab finished their final pose. The music faded, replaced by applause and a few excited whistles from the younger fans. Then the emcee called out the next performers.

"MAVE!" the announcer beamed.

A girl group came up next. Four members. All in light tactical uniforms modified to look like stylized performance gear. They had the energy of professionals and the charisma of people who had survived hell and were still smiling.

Their song was catchy. Thomas had never heard it before, probably their new song that was never released because of the circumstances. Something about hope. Something about standing back up.

He found himself smiling again.

The crowd was clapping in rhythm. A few kids danced along in the open space.

And for a moment, it didn't feel like the end of the world.

Phillip handed him a bottle of juice from a nearby vending stall. "You know, back when I first got summoned as one of the force, Overwatch, I thought the best part of this job would be just serving you and killing everything that you want me to kill."

"And now?" Thomas asked.

"Now I think it's this. The life, it's more precious."

Thomas nodded. "I can'

They stood there in silence, just two soldiers watching a makeshift concert in a post-apocalyptic mall.

A few kids passed by, waving at Phillip. One of them pointed at Thomas. "That's the supreme commander! The one who saved us!"

Thomas gave a small wave, awkward but genuine.

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Phillip chuckled. "You're famous now."

"It's inevitable, haha," Thomas laughed.

"You won't mind the fame?"

"I won't," Thomas simply replied.

As MAVE wrapped up their set, the emcee stepped forward again. "Let's give them one more round of applause! And don't forget, there will be a drill later, it will start at five by the North Wing hall, and we've got open mic night tomorrow at the rooftop!"

People cheered. The lights dimmed. The performers bowed and exited the stage.

Thomas turned to leave, but not before one of the MAVE members gave him a subtle nod as she passed by. There was a lack of better term but they were his FUBUs.

He nodded back.

"Come on," Phillip said. "I heard there's a new vendor near the bookstore that sells real brewed coffee."

Thomas raised an eyebrow. "Brewed? Not powder?"

"Beans. Grinder. Filter and everything. Real coffee."

"That… almost sounds illegal."

They made their way down the atrium hall, past reopened shops, old logos, and walls covered in murals painted by kids.

Outside, the world was full of monsters.

Inside, they still had songs.

They still had coffee.

They still had each other.

And for tonight, that was enough.