Weapon System in Zombie Apocalypse-Chapter 197: Testing the New Toys

November 7, 2025 – 9:35 AM

Forward Agro-Zone One – South Perimeter Range

The test site wasn't marked on any official schematic. It sat half a kilometer south of the main command hub, beyond the irrigation ditches and solar panel rows—just far enough from the bustle of reconstruction that nobody stumbled into it by accident. A dirt path curved toward it, flattened recently by the weight of trucks and foot patrols. At its edge stood a row of modular barricades, a storage container turned into an improvised observation bunker, and five reinforced cages—each one sealed, each one holding something far from dead.

Inside, they groaned.

Clawed. Twitched.

Bit at the bars.

Phillip stood with arms folded, eyes narrowing at the grotesque sight before him. The five zombies—one of them a bloated, another a scarred—were thrashing within the cages, chained at the neck and ankles, just barely restrained.

"When you told me to bring live ones," he said slowly, "I figured you were going to hand them to the researchers."

Thomas didn't respond immediately. He stood across the makeshift range, adjusting the fit of something bulky across his torso. His expression was unreadable, but there was a quiet energy in the way he moved—precise, composed, sharp.

Then he looked up and smiled.

"I am the researcher today."

Phillip blinked. "You're kidding."

Thomas stepped forward, now fully suited in an EX-3 Sentinel Exosuit—the powered armor gleamed dark gray under the sun, every inch of it humming faintly with energy. Servos whined as he moved, the shoulder plates shifting like the wings of a sleeping bird. On his right arm was a compact launch rail socket; on his back, an extendable power module hummed like a restrained engine.

The exosuit wasn't bulky in the way old power armor was. It was streamlined—designed to move with the user, not around them.

"So that's the new update on your system?" Phillip said, his eyes scanning every inch of Thomas's figure.

"Yeah…we are going to test if it's worth the wait," Thomas grinned.

Thomas's boots thudded onto the compacted soil as he stepped onto the cleared dirt range, flanked by stacks of sandbags and armored floodlights now idling in standby. His plasma rifle, the PL-40 Hydra, hummed softly in his hands—the cooling fins along the side ticking quietly as the fusion core came to full charge.

Phillip shook his head, half in disbelief, half in resignation. "You could've just shot at targets, you know. Steel plates, maybe a simulated nest. Not actual biters."

Thomas smirked as he turned, the HUD inside his helmet lighting up with tracking data, ammo count, and power core telemetry. "Simulations don't scream back."

He tapped his comms. "Control, open the first cage. Begin test cycle one."

"Copy, Director. Commander, Cage One."

A hydraulic hiss followed, and one of the reinforced doors groaned open.

From within, the creature stumbled forward— Mid-thirties at the time of death, still in tattered civilian clothes. One of its legs dragged behind it, swollen and ruptured at the knee. Its jaw hung open, tongue slack, groaning low as its head jerked toward movement.

Phillip watched silently from behind the barricade.

"Target acquired," Thomas muttered, lining up his shot. The Hydra locked onto the moving form automatically, the smart-scope adjusting with a slight mechanical click.

FWHOOM.

The plasma bolt punched forward with a thunderclap, the bright lance of heat cutting a swath through the air.

The Shambler didn't even have time to react.

The bolt hit its chest and exploded in a flash of white-blue fire, instantly vaporizing the torso from sternum to spine. The upper half was gone—legs stumbled forward out of sheer inertia, then collapsed.

Thomas lowered the weapon, his HUD already reloading diagnostic data. Core temperature holding. Barrel clean.

"Effective," he said quietly.

"Overkill," Phillip replied, stepping closer. "That thing's skin was already falling off. Any rifle could've done it."

Thomas shrugged inside the armor. "We'll see."

He waved at the bunker. "Next one.."

"Confirming release of Cage Two."

This time, the moment the gate opened, the infected launched out like a shot. The zombie moved low to the ground, spindly arms thrashing, mouth unhinged in a high-pitched screech. It darted toward Thomas in zigzag motions—too fast for any regular soldier to track in time.

Thomas didn't flinch.

The Hydra flicked to Burst Mode. The reticle pulsed red.

FWHOOM-FWHOOM-FWHOOM.

Three bolts surged out—tight, surgical. The first missed. The second clipped its arm. The third connected squarely with the midsection.

The plasma ignited on contact, cooking the core muscles instantly. The zombie's speed turned against it—it flipped forward, spinning head over heels before crashing onto the gravel, twitching once, then lying still.

Phillip raised a brow. "Now that's something."

Thomas exhaled slowly inside the helmet. "Even at top speed, the tracking held. Delay's under a second. Could've handled two."

He turned. "Cage Three."

The zombie stumbled out, bloated and gurgling, its mouth already leaking viscous acid. It didn't run—it stood and hacked, lobbing a glob of green bile through the air.

Thomas sidestepped cleanly, the suit enhancing his movement just enough to make it feel natural—like dodging a ball.

He switched to Stream Mode.

HSSSSS-KRAAAK.

A continuous beam of plasma lanced out of the Hydra's barrel, roaring as it connected with the Spitter's abdomen.

Its belly swelled, cracked, then burst in a violent explosion of pressure and liquefied tissue. The acidic bile flared up, turned inert by the extreme heat before it even hit the ground.

The wind carried the scorched, chemical stench back toward the barricades.

Even Phillip winced.

Thomas stepped back, the rifle venting excess heat through its side fins, glowing faintly orange.

"Third test confirmed. Beam control's stable. Core temp's hitting 83%. I'll need to cool before the next one."

"Yeah," Phillip coughed, pulling his scarf over his nose. "Or before the damn thing melts your hands off."

Thomas chuckled through the comms. "The suit's insulated. I'm fine."

He turned back to the bunker. "Open Cage Four." freёnovelkiss.com

"Sir… you sure that one was a bodybuilder enhanced with virus."

"I know."

There was a long pause.

Then: "Releasing."

The final gate clanged open.

And out stepped the infected. It was huge—easily seven feet tall, with shoulders like slabs of meat and arms thick enough to bend rebar. Plates of hardened flesh covered its torso, fused with what looked like twisted remnants of car bumpers and shrapnel.

It didn't roar.

It charged.

Thomas rolled his shoulders. The exosuit flexed with him.

Hydra back to Burst. He fired.

The bolts struck the chest—burned, but didn't drop it.

"Phillip," Thomas called calmly.

"Yeah?"

"Catch."

He reached to his belt and pulled a small cylinder—rounded, matte black, blinking red.

Oblivion Grenade.

Phillip's eyes widened. "No way. That's one of the antimatter ones?"

Thomas tossed it underhand toward the infected's path, then triggered the magnetic pulse with a flick of his wrist.

The grenade clanked against the dirt—then blinked white.

Time seemed to pause.

Then the air collapsed.

A spherical implosion pulled the infected inward, folding the monster in on itself before erupting in a low, hollow THUMP. The thing was simply gone. All that remained was a crater six feet wide and three feet deep, lined with vitrified dirt.

Phillip whistled. "Okay. I'm sold."

Thomas stood still, breathing steadily, the exosuit venting from the back as his systems cooled down.

The plasma rifle dimmed, returning to standby.

He finally turned toward Phillip, lifting his visor.

"I needed to see it for myself," he said, voice lower now. "Not just the power. The control. The cost. These weapons—they aren't for average squads. They're for moments when nothing else works."

Phillip nodded slowly. "So… what now?"

Thomas looked toward the horizon, where the fortified greenhouses of Forward Agro-Zone One shimmered in the morning sun.

"Now?" he said. "Now we build the team who can actually carry this into the field without blowing themselves up."

He slung the Hydra over his back and stepped off the range, leaving the ashes and the silence behind.