Weapon System in Zombie Apocalypse-Chapter 237: The Spark

January 14, 2026

MOA Complex – 6:05 PM

The evening wind had cooled the air by the time Thomas Estaris stepped out of the Executive Wing, dressed in a lightweight jacket and clean slacks. His boots, shined just enough to suggest effort without vanity, clacked lightly against the tiled walkway that led to the open-air leisure deck on the third floor of the MOA South Tower.

Unlike the first date filled with rides and youthful thrills, tonight was something more grounded. A slower pace. A real talk.

Rebecca Langley was already there—seated beneath a hanging garden of white fairy lights, sipping something from a ceramic mug as she gazed out over the bay. The area had once been a rooftop café. Now it was an Overwatch-operated bistro, repurposed to feed civilians and staff with a view.

She looked up at the sound of his footsteps and smiled.

"No rollercoaster this time?" she teased.

"Not tonight," Thomas said, taking the seat across from her. "I thought we'd try something quieter."

She raised an eyebrow playfully. "Afraid you couldn't top our first date?"

He chuckled. "Afraid I'd vomit after my third ice cream if we rode another drop tower."

The server—a young man in his early twenties wearing the blue apron of the Civilian Affairs Kitchen—appeared with a tray of mushroom soup, grilled fish, and roasted root vegetables. Clean, simple food.

"You've got influence," Rebecca said, eyeing the plate. "This is the command staff ration menu."

Thomas smiled. "I pulled some strings."

They ate quietly for a while. The noise from below drifted up—distant laughter, the honk of a repurposed electric jeep, the low thrum of generator-fed music. Life was returning to Manila, slowly.

Midway through the meal, Thomas leaned back.

"Rebecca. Do you ever think about leaving?"

She looked at him.

"Leaving Overwatch? Or this place?"

"Both."

She thought for a moment. "Sometimes. But only in the abstract. I mean... where would I go? The world outside is still broken. And here, I can at least help fix a piece of it."

He nodded. "Same."

There was a silence that felt neither awkward nor forced—just a quiet understanding that they had both given up a lot for what they had now.

Thomas took a breath. "Before all this... before the apocalypse, I had someone. We weren't married, but we were close. I lost her on Day One. Didn't even get to say goodbye."

Rebecca reached across the table and placed a hand over his. "I'm sorry."

"It's okay. I don't talk about her much anymore. But... I think I carried that weight longer than I thought. Maybe that's why I kept everyone at a distance."

Her hand lingered. "And now?"

He looked at her.

"Now I want something new. With you."

Her eyes didn't waver. "I'm scared too, you know. Every time I feel like I'm starting to live again... I hear the sirens. I read another field report. I wonder if it'll all be ripped away."

"Then let's build something worth protecting."

They sat there for a while longer, hands still touching, food growing cold on their plates. The stars blinked awake overhead. Down below, MOA's southern gate lights shimmered like a beacon in the post-apocalyptic night.

At around 8:00 PM, Thomas stood. "Walk with me?"

Rebecca rose. "Always."

They walked down the spiral stairwell that led to the promenade. Along the way, they passed murals painted by survivors—scenes of hope, resilience, unity. Children's handprints. Names of the dead. Stories etched into concrete.

They reached the edge of the seawall. Waves crashed gently against the barrier, as if the ocean itself was humming a lullaby.

Then Thomas turned to her.

"I've been thinking of starting a civilian council. Something beyond just chain-of-command. Maybe even elections one day."

She looked surprised—and impressed. "That's a big step."

"It is. But so is this."

He leaned in.

Their kiss wasn't urgent. It wasn't rushed. It was quiet, like the wind, like the stars, like the promise of rebuilding not just a city, but a future.

The kiss lingered like a warm ember in the night air—gentle, deliberate, human. When they pulled away, Rebecca smiled faintly, her fingers still looped around the collar of Thomas's jacket. He didn't say anything right away. Neither did she. The silence between them was enough—for now.

Waves splashed softly against the seawall. Out in the distance, a faint silhouette of an anchored patrol boat swayed under a watchful Reaper drone that blinked red in the sky.

"This feels... surreal," Rebecca finally said, brushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "Like I forgot we were allowed to have moments like this."

Thomas exhaled slowly, his voice quiet. "We are. Even if it's just for tonight."

They turned and walked again—this time along the path that circled the mall's outer edge, between broken storefronts and lantern-lit archways. The survivors had converted the abandoned corridor into a kind of garden walkway. Potted plants grew in recycled steel drums. Solar lamps lined the path, casting gold and amber light. Somewhere, a string quartet recording played from a salvaged speaker, adding a dreamlike quality to the atmosphere.

Rebecca slipped her arm into his.

"So, Commander Estaris," she said teasingly, "what's next for our date?"

Thomas smirked. "Well, I was thinking we head over to the carousel."

She laughed. "You're not serious."

"I'm entirely serious. That carousel still works. It's been reinforced and restored by some of the engineers. Part of a public morale project."

A few minutes later, they arrived at the once-abandoned ride—now repainted and lit up with flickering bulbs. The horses and chariots had been cleaned, polished, and remounted. A lone technician stood nearby, lazily sipping from a metal thermos.

"Commander," the man said, standing straighter when he saw them. "You wanna take it for a spin?"

Thomas nodded. "Just a few rounds."

The man smiled and flipped a switch.

As the gears began to turn and music sputtered to life, Thomas and Rebecca stepped aboard. He climbed onto a black armored steed with silver trim—fitting for someone like him. Rebecca chose a simple white horse with a gold saddle, giggling slightly as the ride began to move.

They circled slowly, watching the city's edge blur behind the glow of carousel lights.

"I used to love these as a kid," Rebecca said, her voice light. "There was a park near my house. I'd ride every weekend until I was too tall to fit comfortably."

"Same," Thomas replied. "Except I never really stopped riding. Even as a teenager. Something about carousels makes you forget the world for a bit."

As they circled, Thomas caught glimpses of his people—civilians, guards, and aid workers nearby, many pausing to watch. None interrupted. A few smiled. Some nodded in quiet approval.

They understood.

He wasn't just their commander tonight.

He was a man reclaiming something lost.

After the third turn, the ride slowed. They dismounted in silence. Neither one wanted to break the spell.

From there, they wandered again. Past empty restaurants converted into common kitchens. Past mural walls still half-painted by survivors with charcoal and faded paint. Past old security rooms that now housed radio operators and youth volunteers.

They reached the old MOA amphitheater—once used for concerts and events. Now it was an open-air seating area, mostly dark save for two solar floodlights. A makeshift projector stood at one end, guarded by two sleepy technicians sipping tea.

"We show movies here sometimes," Rebecca said, tugging him toward the rows of wooden benches. "Mostly old Filipino rom-coms or animated stuff for the kids."

Thomas sat down with her on the top row.

The screen flickered on—perhaps someone had seen them and decided to play something. A silent film began. Black and white, foreign, likely salvaged from an old DVD collection.

They watched for a while, neither focused on the story, just enjoying the closeness.

"I used to hate being idle," Thomas said after a time. "Back before the world ended, I couldn't sit still. I always felt like time was slipping past me if I wasn't working."

"And now?" Rebecca asked.

He looked at her. "Now I realize I missed the point. Life isn't measured by output. It's measured by moments like this."

She leaned her head on his shoulder.

The screen flickered. Somewhere, a few children chased each other down the corridor below the amphitheater, their laughter echoing like bells.

"I was never the kind of person who thought I'd find love in a world like this," Rebecca whispered. "I figured I'd bury myself in work until someone put a medal on my grave." frёeωebɳovel.com

Thomas tilted his head gently against hers. "I'm glad you didn't."

Another silence followed. But this one felt different—full, like a page written in shared ink.

At around 9:15 PM, the film ended. The projector dimmed. They rose together, neither needing to say much. They made their way back toward the main executive wing, this time taking the long route along the baywalk.

The water glittered under starlight. The night breeze rolled in soft and cool.

"Rebecca," Thomas said suddenly. "After all this... when we've won... what do you want to do?"

She thought about it for a long moment.

"I want to open a real school. Not just a survival program or a war-time curriculum. A real school—where kids can learn math and history and art without needing to carry a sidearm."

He smiled. "That sounds beautiful."

"And you?"

He looked out over the water. "I want a house by the coast. Not too big. Just... something quiet. Somewhere I can wake up and hear the waves and not worry about the sonar buoys. And maybe have a dog."

Rebecca grinned. "That's surprisingly wholesome."

"I want to live," he said, turning to her. "Really live. With someone. With you."

She looked at him again.

There was no hesitation in her voice when she answered.

"Then let's make it happen."

By the time they returned to the executive elevator, it was almost 10 PM.

They stood outside the lift, neither wanting to break the spell.

Rebecca stepped in first.

Thomas hesitated.

She turned and held out her hand. "Come on, soldier. We're not done yet."

He took her hand.

The elevator doors slid closed.

And in the silence that followed, there were no alerts. No alarms.

Just two hearts, finally beating in time with each other.