Weapon System in Zombie Apocalypse-Chapter 99: The Discussion

The meeting room Thomas had prepared wasn't lavish—it was functional. Clean metal tables, folding chairs, a simple fan humming in the corner. But the sharpness of the soldiers standing guard at each end of the room made it clear: this was not a casual conversation.

Captain Enrique Villamor stepped inside with measured steps, his expression calm but alert. Ramos stayed outside per Thomas's request—this was a one-on-one discussion.

Thomas closed the door behind them and gestured to the chair across from him. "Have a seat, Captain."

Villamor complied, his eyes scanning the room once more before settling on the man who, for all intents and purposes, controlled the refinery.

Thomas sat across from him, resting his forearms on the table. He leaned forward slightly, his voice level.

"Let's start from the top. I'm Commander Thomas Estaris. I lead this force."

Villamor raised an eyebrow. "What branch?"

Thomas gave a small exhale, then chuckled dryly. "That's the thing. We're not with any branch you know. Technically, we're a private military force."

Villamor blinked. "A private army?"

Thomas nodded. "We operate internationally. Before the world went to hell, we handled high-level private security contracts, conflict zone operations, and force recon missions on behalf of clients—governments, corporations, whoever had the funds and the cause."

He paused, glancing at the table for a second.

"Actually… we've never had to name ourselves. But I suppose that changes today."

Villamor tilted his head. "You don't have a name?"

"Didn't need one," Thomas said with a shrug. "But if you're going to keep asking who we are... we're Overwatch now."

"Overwatch," Villamor repeated quietly, like he was testing the weight of the word. "So you're mercenaries."

Thomas didn't flinch. "We're soldiers with discipline and a purpose. We don't loot, we don't burn, and we don't shoot first. But we will hold what we've bled for."

Villamor gave a slow nod, as if digesting the information.

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"And you?" Thomas asked. "Let's get your details out of the way."

Villamor straightened in his chair. "Captain Enrique Villamor, Philippine Army, 7th Infantry Division. Before the outbreak, I was stationed in Nueva Ecija. I was part of Task Force Sentinel—our mandate shifted when the virus hit. We've been on the move since then, supporting evacuation points, securing supply lines. Bataan is our current fallback position."

Thomas frowned. "So who's giving you your orders now? President? Senate?"

Villamor's face tightened. He shook his head. "The President's dead. So is most of the cabinet. Chain of command fell apart during the first week. Some officers tried to rally, others... chose to flee."

Thomas leaned back slowly. "So who's in charge?"

"We follow General Angelo de Vera," Villamor said. "He was the commanding officer of the 302nd Brigade. He consolidated surviving military assets in Bataan. It's a medium force, holding out in a fortified base. We've got soldiers, civilian volunteers, evacuees—around a thousand people total, give or take. Food and fuel are running low. That refinery was critical."

Thomas was quiet for a moment, processing that.

"And Santiago? Was he under General de Vera's direct command?"

Villamor nodded. "He was. Assigned to lead the recon and, if possible, secure this refinery for distribution."

Thomas's voice darkened. "And did that mission include opening fire on fortified positions?"

Villamor narrowed his eyes. "That's still what I don't understand. Santiago wouldn't start a firefight without cause. Maybe something was misread. Maybe someone in your perimeter got twitchy."

Thomas's jaw tightened. "No one in my unit fired first. Your men started firing on our position. At first, Santiago demanded I go with them to speak with your leader, supposedly your General.. When I said no, they started moving on our positions. That's when everything went to hell."

Villamor was silent for a beat, his brow furrowed.

"That doesn't sound like him," he said at last.

"I agree," Thomas replied, folding his arms. "Which is why I think Santiago came here expecting to find some half-starved militia guarding the gates. He thought he could bluff us into giving it up. When we didn't, pride kicked in."

Villamor looked down at the table, nodding slowly. "If what you're saying is true... then we miscalculated."

Thomas tapped his fingers once against the table. "You did more than miscalculate. You lost men. Good men. And you're lucky we didn't light up your recon team from the ridgeline. A lesser force would've done it."

"I won't argue with that," Villamor said quietly. "Your people had every reason to shoot first. But you didn't."

"We're not here to wipe out what's left of civilization, Captain," Thomas said. "We're here to rebuild. But that means we need order. Cooperation."

Villamor looked up. "And what does cooperation mean to you?"

"It means we find a way forward where both sides live. You don't try to take this refinery from us. In return, we open up the possibility of fuel shipments—controlled, rationed, but shared."

Villamor leaned forward slightly. "You're willing to negotiate?"

"Of course, after all, we are in the team of humanity. We are up against zombies right? So it only makes sense to stop shooting at each other and focus on the real enemy."

Villamor allowed himself a small nod, his eyes never leaving Thomas. "That's the first sane thing I've heard in weeks."

Thomas leaned back in his chair. "We're not trying to hoard everything, Captain. We secured this place. We bled for it. That doesn't mean we won't share—especially not if it keeps more people alive."

Villamor crossed his arms. "You understand, though, that I can't promise anything. I'll have to bring this back to General de Vera. He'll make the call."

"I expect that," Thomas replied. "But understand this: I'm not giving up this refinery. Not to you. Not to anyone. If he tries to take it by force like Santiago did... the outcome won't be different."

Villamor stared for a moment, then slowly stood. "Understood. I'll relay the message."

Thomas stood as well, extending a hand. "Let's hope cooler heads prevail, Captain."

Villamor looked at the hand for a beat, then took it with a firm grip. "For all our sakes."