Weapon System in Zombie Apocalypse-Chapter 78: The Survivors Part 4

Thomas Estaris walked through the halls of Shore Residences, his expression neutral as he headed toward another meeting. This time, it wasn't about military reinforcements or logistics—it was about the P-pop group that had been stranded in the MOA Complex since the outbreak.

Phillip walked beside him, reading from his tablet. "The group calls themselves ALAB. Seven members, all female. They were here for an event when everything collapsed. Just like RAVE, the K-pop group we dealt with before."

Thomas sighed. "Another group of idols. Fantastic."

Rebecca, walking on his other side, added, "Unlike RAVE, they haven't caused problems. But that doesn't mean they're adjusting well. From what we gathered, some of them still haven't fully grasped their situation."

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Thomas stopped in front of the door and looked at them. "Let's see if they understand it now."

The guards opened the door, and Thomas stepped inside, scanning the room. The seven members of ALAB sat together, looking tense. Across from them, RAVE sat quietly, already aware of what this meeting was about.

The leader of ALAB, a woman with long black hair, stood up slowly. "You're the Supreme Commander?" she asked.

Thomas nodded. "That's me." He crossed his arms and looked at them. "I'll get straight to the point. You've been here for weeks now. You've seen how this place works. Everyone contributes. So tell me—what can you do?"

The members looked at each other, hesitant. Finally, one of them spoke. "We… we can sing, dance. Perform."

Thomas sighed. "That's not useful."

The leader swallowed. "We can learn something else."

Thomas nodded slightly. That was a better answer. "Then tell me—what are you willing to do? Medical aid? Logistics? Food distribution? Maintenance?"

Another silence. Some of them looked uneasy, but the leader finally answered, "We can do community work. Help where needed."

"That's a start," Thomas said. "You'll be assigned to community services—food distribution, medical stations, and logistics work. You start at Tier 3 like everyone else without skills. If you prove yourselves, you'll move up."

Some of them looked relieved. The youngest of the group hesitated before speaking. "We'll do our best."

Thomas turned to RAVE, who had remained quiet. "And you? Are you adjusting?"

The leader of RAVE nodded. "Yes, sir. We understand how things work now."

"Good." He glanced at Rebecca. "Get their assignments sorted."

Rebecca nodded. "I'll handle it."

Thomas looked back at both groups. "You were famous once. That doesn't matter anymore. What matters is survival. If you want to stay, you contribute. If you don't like it, you can leave. But once you step outside, you're on your own."

The room stayed silent, but no one argued.

With that, Thomas turned to leave. Phillip smirked. "That went smoother than last time."

Thomas exhaled. "For now."

There were bigger things to worry about. The world wasn't getting any easier.

The next morning, the members of ALAB and RAVE reported to their assigned community service duties. The adjustment was rough.

At the food distribution center, the idols found themselves behind long tables, handing out trays of rice and canned meat to the long lines of survivors. The work was repetitive, tedious, and exhausting. They had to stand for hours, dealing with impatient people who sometimes complained about the food portions.

"This is ridiculous…" One of the ALAB members, Nina, muttered as she scooped rice onto a plate. "We used to perform on stage for thousands, and now we're serving food?"

"At least we're not scrubbing floors," another one, Yana, sighed, her fingers stiff from handling countless plates.

Meanwhile, some members were assigned to logistics, working in the storage warehouses. They moved heavy boxes, counted supplies, and recorded rations on paper logs. It was nothing like their past lives of makeup, rehearsals, and concerts.

"I never imagined I'd be stacking crates instead of practicing choreography," Kai, a member of RAVE, murmured, wiping sweat from her forehead.

"It's this or starving," her teammate Minji responded flatly, adjusting the sleeves of her oversized uniform.

Despite the rough start, they didn't complain too loudly. They knew what the alternative was.

As time passed, the idols began adapting.

The food distribution work, while tiring, allowed them to interact with survivors. They began recognizing regular faces, some of whom treated them with kindness.

An older woman smiled warmly as she received her meal. "Thank you, dear. You remind me of my granddaughter. She used to love your music before all this happened."

That caught Nina off guard. The thought of fans—people who still remembered them—made her feel a little less lost.

Over at logistics, Kai and Minji got faster at handling supply records. They even figured out ways to organize inventory more efficiently.

"This is easier than memorizing dance routines," Minji muttered one afternoon as she stacked ration boxes into neat rows.

As much as they had resisted in the beginning, they had to admit—they were getting used to it.

Some nights, after finishing their shifts, they would gather outside near the supply tents. Survivors would sit around makeshift tables, sharing stories while eating.

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One evening, a little girl approached them, hesitating before speaking.

"Ma'am, can you sing something?" she asked softly, her big eyes looking up at them hopefully.

The members exchanged glances. It had been a long time since they had performed. There was no stage, no lights, no cameras—just a group of weary survivors looking for a moment of escape.

After a moment of hesitation, ALAB and RAVE sang softly, their voices blending in harmony. It wasn't a grand performance, but for a few minutes, the world felt a little lighter.

After a long day of work, the idols walked back toward Shore Residences, their temporary housing. It was late, and most survivors were already inside their designated shelters.

As they turned a corner near an alley, they noticed a group of men standing nearby, whispering among themselves.

The moment the idols walked past, the men stopped talking and stared.

The gaze they received was not one of admiration, but something far more unsettling.

A slow, eerie grin spread across one of the men's faces.

"Well, well… look at that," one of them muttered.

Another chuckled. "Didn't think we'd get this lucky."

The idols felt their stomachs twist.

They weren't naive. They had spent enough time around men like this to know what those looks meant.

Kai instinctively grabbed Nina's arm. "Let's go. Now."

The group quickened their pace, hearts pounding, but the men followed behind at a casual pace, as if enjoying the fear in their steps.

The safe walls of the MOA Complex didn't mean much if danger was inside them.

"We need to get to the guards," Minji whispered.

"But they're on the other side of the street—"

"Then we run."

The group exchanged looks, steeling themselves.

They weren't superstars anymore. They weren't famous singers or dancers. They were survivors. And survivors had to fight.

Before the men could get any closer, they bolted toward the guard station.

They would not become victims. Not here. Not now.