Panic and anger rippled through the crowd as they stumbled out onto the battlefield. Many feared the worst, believing that being forced outside the walls meant certain death. Though reluctance spread like wildfire, few dared to resist. The ones who had the courage to fight back had already perished on the battlefield, leaving behind those who were mediocre or cowardly. Under the ominous threat of machine guns, the crowd hesitantly obeyed, stepping into the open wasteland beyond the walls. But as their eyes fell on the battlefield, their anger turned to horror.
Severed limbs and dismembered corpses stretched as far as the eye could see. Zombie bodies were piled into grotesque mountains, while dozens of mechanical spiders skittered across the field, methodically finishing off any remaining undead—and even infected humans. The air was thick with the putrid stench of decay, blood, and a sickening slurry of flesh churned into mud.
"Vomit!"
"I can't take it! I need to go back!"
Terrified, the front of the group tried to retreat, but more survivors, driven forward by the mechanical dogs, forced them back into the chaos. Amid the confusion, Zack's amplified voice boomed like thunder, silencing the crowd. "Anyone who takes a single step back—dies."
The survivors froze, their eyes snapping toward the six-meter-tall steel giant standing amidst the carnage. Its raised palm glowed ominously, a charged pulse cannon ready to fire. Some whispered among themselves, certain Zack wouldn't follow through. "Why should we listen to him?"
A man stepped forward, his tone arrogant. He was one of the soldiers who had fled the battlefield earlier, accustomed to flaunting authority under Kane's rule. "You're not from our base—"
BOOM! Before he could finish, a searing particle beam erupted from Zack's palm, obliterating the man where he stood. Bone fragments and charred flesh rained down on those nearest to him. A chilling silence fell over the crowd as the reality of Zack's resolve settled in. Those who had spoken up earlier now cowered, their defiance extinguished.
Zack's gaze swept over the crowd, his voice cold and unyielding. "Now, does anyone else have questions?" The survivors trembled under his glare, the weight of his brutal aura pressing down on them. They understood now—this was no idle threat. Disobedience would lead to certain death.
Yet amid the fear, some began to realize the truth: the zombie wave, the unrelenting terror, was gone. The battlefield, though littered with corpses, held no living zombies.
"It's true…"
"They're really gone."
"We're… safe?"
The realization spread like a ripple through the crowd. Relief quickly replaced fear, and many began moving toward the field voluntarily. "Let's clear the battlefield. It's the least we can do!"
The atmosphere shifted. Gratitude and survival instincts drove the majority to action. Soon, hundreds of thousands of survivors began cleaning up the endless remains, their efforts gradually restoring order to the chaos. Zack watched the scene unfold from his towering vantage point. His expression softened slightly as he spoke. "How many survivors remain?"
"Approximately 410,000, sir," Ego replied. "However, during the cleanup, we estimate a loss of 10,000 to 20,000 due to residual zombies or accidental infection."
Cleaning the battlefield was dangerous work. Undetected zombies or careless exposure to infected blood could prove fatal. "Should I mobilize additional mechanical units from NYC to assist with cleanup?" Ego asked.
Zack's gaze lingered on the survivors toiling below. After a moment of thought, he responded, his tone resolute. "No. They need to do this themselves. Let them clean up the mess left by their fear. It'll remind them what survival costs."
To Zack, anyone who couldn't even handle cleaning up corpses had no place struggling in this apocalypse. "If they can't manage this, they're better off resting in peace."
Ego paused. "Sir, are you planning to take control of the base?"
"Of course." Zack's voice was icy. "I've spent a fortune wiping out that zombie tide. If I walk away with just a handful of rare materials, it'd be a waste." The Capital was rich in resources, its proximity to the mineral-rich north making it a prime acquisition. By seizing control, Zack would claim an entire region's worth of resources.
"Where are the crafting bugs I asked for?" Zack inquired sharply.
"They're in the Avalon," Ego replied promptly. "Twenty manufacturing bugs were brought in total. Should I release them?"
"Deploy them immediately." Zack's narrowed eyes gleamed. "This base needs restructuring, and I'll ensure everyone here falls in line."
A few hours later. The sun had long set, but powerful floodlights illuminated the high walls of the Capital, turning the night into day. The battlefield outside was a sea of chaos as survivors, driven by Zack's commands, worked tirelessly to clean up the remnants of the battle. Hundreds of thousands of survivors had been divided into three groups, rotating shifts to transport the mountains of corpses using heavy trucks.
The bodies were being buried in the radiation-soaked plains nearby, handled by personnel wearing protective suits. By now, the immediate area surrounding the high walls was clear of limbs and shattered bodies. The blood-soaked ground remained a dark red, and the metallic stench of death still clung to the air, a grim reminder of the earlier carnage.
Meanwhile, the manufacturing bugs had been deployed. Scuttling through the abandoned corners of the base, they scavenged materials, rapidly producing self-destructing microchips that Zack intended to use for his future plans. Zack, now out of the Titan armor, strode toward a group sitting near the base of the wall. Among them were survivors of the earlier battle, including Scott and Scarlett's mutant squad. Nearby, two hulking bear soldiers stood guard, wearing rudimentary exoskeletons. Andre, still unconscious but stable, lay nearby.
The sound of heavy footsteps caught their attention, and the group looked up, expressions of gratitude and awe evident on their weary faces. "Sir Zack?" one soldier ventured, standing up hastily.
The rest followed, scrambling to their feet. These were people who had truly faced despair, their gratitude to Zack deeper than words could convey. In their darkest moment, his mechanical army had been their only hope. "Sit down," Zack said casually, walking through the group and stopping in front of Scott.
"Thank you…" Scott rasped, leaning heavily on a blood-streaked rifle for support. "Thank you for saving us—for saving the 600,000 people in Washington DC."
"Thank me later." Zack waved off the sentiment. "I'm here to talk about the management of the Capital." Scott's expression shifted, his wearied features darkening. He had always stayed out of power struggles, focusing solely on the safety of the city.
"You managed this battle well," Zack began, his tone neutral. "I want you to run this base for me." Before Scott could respond, Zack cut him off. "Kane is dead. I sent people to deal with him. This base is mine now. Any objections?"
"No!" Scott shook his head immediately, his tone decisive.
''Smart move,' Zack thought. He didn't need defiance, only compliance. If Scott refused, Zack could easily replace him with someone else—loyalty was all that mattered.
"You can rally these soldiers to help you manage the base," Zack continued. "I'll provide the weapons and equipment you need."