Weapon System in Zombie Apocalypse-Chapter 140: Hunter

Over Bataan Province, Luzon

Altitude: 8,000 feet AGL

The night sky above the province of Bataan was thick with low clouds and cold mist, but high above them, three Reaper drones cut silently through the upper atmosphere, their cameras panning.

Inside the MOA Complex control tower, the Tactical Aerial Reconnaissance Bay was alive with quiet voices and flickering monitors. Techs moved between consoles, adjusting parameters and marking heat signatures. The entire room smelled of plastic, sweat, and focus.

"Reaper One-One, this is Control. Begin Phase One of the sweep," said a voice over comms.

A synthetic voice replied, male, calm, and flat. "Reaper One-One copy. Engaging west sector grid alpha. IR sweep commencing."

Far below, blackened jungle sprawled endlessly, interrupted only by roads lost to time and rusted shells of trucks choked in vines. Reaper One-One banked slightly and began a slow descent to improve thermal accuracy.

"Reaper One-Two, divert east by 15 degrees. Shantytown cluster incoming. Elevation drop advised," Control directed.

"Copy that. Adjusting heading. Scanning sector Charlie-3," One-Two responded, this one with a clipped female tone, synthetic but distinctly sharp.

The third drone, Reaper One-Three, lagged slightly behind but held altitude. "This is One-Three, sweeping northern highlands. Getting weird cross-signals. Probably interference from old transmission towers. Recalibrating now."

Control patched into all three feeds at once, each displayed across segmented monitors in the operations bay. What the drones saw was relayed in real-time: flickers of body heat in ruined homes, clusters of animal signatures in tree cover, and flickering white traces buried within old stone foundations.

"Thermals clear so far," One-One said. "But I've got an anomaly."

"Go ahead."

"Grid 9-Bravo. Thermal bloom underneath collapsed chapel roof. No movement aboveground, but something's warm in the basement level."

Control leaned in.

"Get us visuals."

One-One obeyed.

The camera feed zoomed in until the shattered remains of a Spanish-era church filled the screen. The stonework was fractured, the roof half caved in. From above, it looked abandoned—typical of so many ruins left behind in the wake of the collapse.

But beneath it… the temperature was rising.

"Confirming abnormal heat signature," One-One said. "Basement or substructure. Holding steady at human body temperature range. Consistent. Sustained. Not wildlife."

Control marked it on the master map. A red dot blinked just outside the southern jungleline.

"One-Two, shift focus. Move to cover the approach vector. We want to box it in."

"Copy," came the reply.

One-Two's camera panned southeast. Through its infrared lens, the coastal shantytowns glowed faintly—still inhabited, barely surviving. Fires in barrels, figures moving like ghosts across rooftops. But nothing stood out. No heavy congregation. No bunkered heat.

"Negative activity here," One-Two reported. "Mostly civilians. Malnourished. Doesn't match Crimson profile."

One-Three chimed in. "Highlands scan complete. No bunker activity. But I've got something else—EM spike. Directional antenna, buried deep. It's active."

"Can you triangulate?"

"Working on it. Signal strength rising. It's pinging intermittently. Possible encrypted uplink."

Control cut into the private channel to Thomas. "Eagle, we might have something. Two hits—one heat, one electronic."

In the MOA briefing room, Thomas stood before a feed relay, arms crossed. Phillip was next to him, watching the grid populate.

"Overlay the church and the EM source," Thomas said.

The tech complied. Two red dots glowed. The EM spike came from roughly a kilometer northwest of the chapel.

Phillip frowned. "Too close for coincidence."

Thomas nodded. "That's not a chapel anymore. That's a mask."

"Permission to go active?" Control asked.

"Denied," Thomas said instantly. "No missiles. No loud calls. Not yet."

Phillip raised an eyebrow.

"We need confirmation first," Thomas said. "Visual. I want to know who's inside that ruin before we make noise."

Reaper One-One adjusted its angle.

The drone hovered in place, zooming in closer now. Its high-resolution night optics cut through the dark like a blade.

Inside the ruined nave, near the altar, movement.

"Contact. Confirmed visual," One-One announced. "Multiple figures. Huddled. Praying."

Thomas leaned closer. "How many?"

"One-One counting… twelve. All veiled. Children included. Singing."

Phillip muttered, "Red Choir."

"Still think they're not local?" Thomas said.

"Not anymore."

One-Two chimed back in.

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"I've got vehicle tracks leading into the chapel compound from the north. Tire marks are fresh—dirt kicked up in the last twelve hours."

"Origin point?" Phillip asked.

"Following the trail now… leading toward the hills."

Reaper One-Two's camera followed the faint grooves through the overgrowth until it panned across a stone ridge. Behind it—half-buried in the jungle—was a metallic structure.

"Hold," Thomas said.

The camera focused.

A heavy steel hatch, surrounded by camouflage netting. Vines hung naturally over it. At first glance, it was just another part of the forest.

Then the thermal came through.

"Heat bloom confirmed. Multiple levels. Internal lighting systems active. That's a bunker."

Thomas's jaw tightened. "Found them."

"Reaper One-Three?" Phillip asked.

"I'm watching the perimeter. No signs of guards, but something is under the foliage. Getting faint EM leaks. Might be generators or internal comms."

Thomas stared at the screen, then gave the order.

"Mark all positions. Transmit full recon packet to command."

Phillip nodded, already tapping the slate. "Shall I prep the combat teams?"

"Yeah, we are going in," Thomas said, rising to his feet. "And I am coming."

"I have no objections with that," Phillip replied, locking eyes with him. "But if you're coming, we're going in heavy. No half-measures."

Thomas nodded. "Exactly. We hit them hard, fast, and without mercy. I want to level that bunker before they even realize we're above them."

Across the room, the operations tech confirmed, "Full recon packet transmitted. Mission parameters locked."

Thomas turned to the live feeds again. Onscreen, Reaper One-One hovered silently in the clouds above the chapel ruin, its gaze fixed on the veiled silhouettes of the Red Choir below—children, teenagers, a few women swaying gently in prayer, completely unaware that the eye of death was watching.

Reaper One-Two was still scanning the ridge, now focused on the camouflaged hatch tucked into the jungle. Its thermal scan showed movement inside. Not many. But enough.

Then Reaper One-Three's camera panned right—capturing a flicker of something deeper in the forest. A shimmer of light from a slit in the ground. Another entrance? Or a ventilation shaft?

"Reaper One-Three to Control," the voice crackled. "I've got a secondary anomaly. Possible auxiliary tunnel entrance. Coordinates uploading."

Phillip's eyes narrowed. "They've got an escape route."

"Not for long," Thomas muttered, pulling on his tactical vest.

The hunt was over.

The strike was coming.