Harem Apocalypse: My Seed is the Cure?!-Chapter 247: Callighan [2]

Mei walked back into the darkened bedroom and sat down heavily on the worn sofa, her body tense with suppressed emotion.

But Liam still held the door open, leaning against the frame as he looked at her with an expression that mixed contempt with something more mocking.

"You’d better start behaving yourself much more cooperatively if you don’t want to end up being handed over to Williams," he said with an unpleasant smirk. "Believe me when I tell you there’s absolutely nothing worse than ending up in that guy’s hands. And he definitely won’t spare a beauty like you—he’ll take his time breaking you down completely."

The threat was delivered casually, as if discussing something mundane rather than horrific violence.

"Have you said enough yet?" Mei asked, giving him an utterly unimpressed, cold stare that conveyed exactly how little his intimidation affected her.

Liam snorted dismissively at her defiance, then finally pulled the door closed with a heavy thud that echoed through the small room.

The sound of a lock clicking into place followed immediately—sealing her inside once again.

Mei’s eyes flickered back to the single candle flame dancing in the center of the room, providing the only illumination in the oppressive darkness.

Then her gaze dropped to her own hands resting on her lap, and she noticed with dismay that they were trembling slightly—small, involuntary shakes that showed the fear and stress she was desperately trying to suppress and hide.

She quickly clenched both hands into tight fists, forcing the trembling to stop through sheer willpower and physical tension.

Then she carefully repositioned herself, laying down gently on the sofa in a sleeping position while keeping her gaze fixed on the flickering candle flame—watching the light dance and shift as she tried to calm her racing thoughts.

She couldn’t afford to be scared right now. Fear would cloud her judgment and make her vulnerable.

She couldn’t lose her composure or emotional control. That’s what they wanted—to break her down psychologically until cooperation seemed like the only option.

She had to stay strong, no matter what threats or pressures they applied.

Repeating those mantras silently to herself like a protective incantation, she slowly closed her eyes.

Ryan’s face immediately flashed through her mind, his concerned expression, the way he always seemed to worry about her welfare even when she tried to push him away and nonchalant.

Just thinking about him, remembering his persistent care and seriousness, somehow made the trembling in her hands stop completely.

A small measure of calm and confidence returned, pushing back against the fear.

The only thing she could realistically do right now was wait. Wait for the right opportunity, wait for rescue, wait for circumstances to change in her favor.

So she would wait, and she would endure, and she would trust that Ryan was already searching for her.

°°°

"What else did you find?" Callighan asked Gaspar, who was still sitting casually in his chair across the room.

"Nothing beyond what I’ve already told you, Daniel," Gaspar replied with a smirk. "But we have everything we actually need already. The mission was a complete success."

"You have everything you need, Gaspar," Callighan corrected sharply, emphasizing the distinction. "Don’t speak for my objectives or interests."

"Come on now, don’t try to separate us like we’re not partners in this," Gaspar said with an easy smile. "We escaped that hellhole prison together, remember? I’m the one who got you out of there when everything went to shit. Otherwise you’d probably be currently shambling around that facility as one of those mindless Infected—your guts spilling out while you mindlessly seek fresh flesh to consume."

Callighan’s expression barely reacted to that reminder, his face remaining cold and impassive.

Three months ago, yes. When the Infected outbreak had reached the maximum-security prison in Philadelphia where they’d both been incarcerated, everything had turned catastrophic almost immediately.

The guards had abandoned their posts and fled for their own lives, leaving the prisoners locked in their cells to die horrible deaths as the infection spread unchecked through the facility.

At that desperate moment, it had been Gaspar who’d reached out his hand—literally and figuratively—to offer Callighan a path to survival and escape.

It had seemed strange at first, since Gaspar had actually been a correctional officer working at that prison rather than an inmate. But through their interactions during and after the escape, Callighan had quickly discovered that Gaspar was a genuinely twisted individual who’d been using his position of authority to indulge disturbing impulses.

After being freed from that doomed facility, Callighan had learned about Gaspar’s true nature—about the Symbiotes that granted supernatural abilities, about the alien Starakians and their invasion, about the larger horror underlying the zombie apocalypse.

None of it particularly interested Callughan on a philosophical or existential level however.

He only wanted one specific thing, and had wanted it with burning intensity for years: punishment and revenge against the person directly responsible for his six years of incarceration.

Marlon Lane.

That singular objective was the reason he’d traveled nearly a hundred miles from Philadelphia to Atlantic City, crossing through Infected-infested territory and gathering followers along the way.

Gaspar had followed him on that journey—more out of amusement and boredom than genuine loyalty or shared purpose—while Callighan systematically formed his own group.

Now, finally having reached Atlantic City two months ago, establishing a power base here, Callighan was methodically working to take away everything from Marlon exactly as Marlon had taken everything from him six years ago.

Destroy his community, kill his people, make him suffer before the final reckoning.

"You chose to follow me of your own volition," Callighan replied coldly, giving Gaspar a penetrating stare. "I never asked for your company or assistance beyond that escape."

Gaspar sighed with exaggeration.

"Out of pure amusement at first, yes—I was bored and curious where you’d go," he admitted easily. "But since your archenemy Marlon nearly managed to kill me that day, I’ve also developed my own personal motivation for destroying everything he’s created. He made it personal when he actually threatened my life."

"Yet you’ve remained safely in the background until now, despite possessing supernatural powers granted by that parasitic monster living inside you," Callighan observed pointedly. "You could have ended this conflict weeks ago if you’d committed your full capabilities."

"Marlon has a weapon specifically capable of killing Symbiote hosts, Callighan," Gaspar replied seriously, standing up from his chair. "Some kind of specialized Starakian armament that can actually penetrate our enhanced defenses and kill us permanently. I wouldn’t take unnecessary risks getting myself killed when he’s demonstrated he has the means to do exactly that. Who knows what other advantages or weapons he’s acquired that we don’t know about?"

"If you’re going to cower in fear of one man with a special gun, then so be it," Callighan said dismissively. "But I have my own methods for dealing with Marlon, and I don’t rely on supernatural powers or alien parasites to accomplish my objectives."

"Oh, I won’t be cowering anymore," Gaspar chuckled, his smirk widening. "Not after today’s acquisition."

He approached the table where the Alien Matrix device sat, reaching out his hand to trace the strange symbols carved into its metallic surface with something approaching reverence.

"A Tri-Core Matrix, and already filled with active power sources," he said with obvious satisfaction. "I genuinely couldn’t have asked for anything more perfect. This changes everything."

"And what exactly are you planning to do with that alien technology?" Callighan asked, watching Gaspar’s interaction with the device carefully.

"That’s not quite the right question to be asking," Gaspar said, turning back with his smirk firmly in place. "The question should be: what can we do with it together?"

Callighan narrowed his eyes suspiciously hearing that cryptic statement.

But before he could demand clarification or press for specific details about Gaspar’s intentions, the door to the living room suddenly burst open with explosive force as a young man rushed inside without any consideration.

It was Tommy.

"Gaspar, thank God you’re actually here!" Tommy called out desperately, his voice cracking with panic as he rushed forward into the room without hesitation.

But his frantic entrance was immediately met with hostile response. Callighan’s armed men positioned throughout the living room reacted instantly to the disruption—multiple weapons swinging toward the intruder with practiced speed, at least six guns now pointing directly at Tommy’s chest and head from different angles.

Tommy froze mid-stride and immediately raised both hands high in a placating, non-threatening gesture, showing clearly that he wasn’t armed and posed no danger.

"Wait, please don’t shoot! Gaspar, it’s Emily—I need your help right now!" He shouted, his words tumbling out in an anxious rush. "She’s completely freaking out again, worse than before! Please, you have to come help her immediately!"

"What a troublesome, high-maintenance girl," Gaspar said with an exasperated sigh and shake of his head. "This situation is entirely your fault, you know. All of this instability and these violent episodes are happening because you idiotslet her escape from secure containment the other day. Now her condition has deteriorated even further, and she’s more unstable and dangerous than she was before."

Tommy visibly gritted his teeth at the dismissive, blame-shifting response, his jaw clenching and his raised hands curling into tight fists despite maintaining their elevated, non-threatening position.

"We can’t just keep her locked in a cage like some kind of dangerous animal for the rest of her life," he said. "She’s not some monster that needs to be imprisoned indefinitely without hope or treatment."

"Did you actually see what she physically looks like when she loses control and the Symbiote fully manifests, Tommy?" Gaspar asked with cruel, mocking laughter. "Have you witnessed the transformation? Because as a Symbiote Host myself—someone who actually understands what we’re dealing with from direct personal experience—I’m telling you sure that she needs to be locked up and kept under maximum security containment. She’s the host of an exceptionally dangerous entity, a violent freak even by the already-extreme standards of the Symbiote species. The one bonded with her is unstable, aggressive, and nearly impossible to control."

"Then at least help her learn to manage it!" Tommy snapped back, his desperation finally overriding his caution and self-preservation instincts. "She’s suffering constantly—every single day, every hour! Can’t you see that? She needs actual treatment and training, not just imprisonment and isolation! Help her control the Symbiote instead of just locking her away like she’s already lost!"

"Tommy, you fucker—" Liam interjected sharply, having just finished descending the stairs after securing Mei in her room upstairs. He moved quickly across the living room and grabbed Tommy’s arm roughly, clearly intending to drag the troublemaker away from this confrontation before it could escalate further.

"Fuck off, Liam! You’ve become nothing but their obedient attack dog, haven’t you?!" Tommy shouted, trying desperately to wrench his captured arm free from Liam’s grip. "Just another one mindless followers! I won’t let Emily die slowly in a cage because of your cowardice and collaboration! We never should have come to this place! We should have stayed far away from here and this group to begin with!"

"Your precious Emily is only still breathing and alive right now because of Gaspar’s intervention and continued protection, you self-righteous dumbass!" Liam snarled, glaring at Tommy with genuine fury. "Do you understand that? Without him, she would have been killed weeks ago when she first lost control! And he’s absolutely right about her being a dangerous freak who can’t be trusted around people. The only use she has at this point—the only reason we’re keeping her alive at all—is as a living biological weapon to unleash against the Boardwalk Community. To decapitate and slaughter those motherfuckers who keep resisting us. So instead of constantly whining about her treatment and conditions, how about you try convincing her to direct her violence toward killing our actual enemies instead of constantly trying to attack and kill us?!"

"You bastard!" Tommy roared, suddenly grasping Liam’s shirt collar with both hands and yanking him forward violently, clearly preparing to throw a punch directly into his face.

But before the physical fight could properly begin and escalate into serious violence, Gaspar intervened with swift, overwhelming force.

A grotesque yellow appendage—something between a segmented tail, a tentacle, and a whip made of living tissue—suddenly erupted from Gaspar’s extended hand. The organic weapon shot across the room with blinding speed, covering the fifteen-foot distance between them in a fraction of a second.

The tail struck Tommy squarely in the center of his chest with tremendous kinetic force, the impact lifting him completely off his feet and launching him backward through the air.

His body slammed against the far wall with a sickening thud—the collision hard enough to crack plaster and drive the air explosively from his lungs.

"Ungh!" Tommy grunted in sharp pain, his eyes widening with shock as he struggled to breathe. He slid partway down the wall before managing to catch himself and prevent a complete collapse to the floor.

"Alright, I’ll go check on your troubled little girlfriend and help her calm down," Gaspar said, his tone shifting from amusement to something far more serious and genuinely threatening. He fixed Tommy with an intense, frightening stare—the kind of look that promised severe consequences for disobedience. "But don’t you ever—and I mean ever—release her from containment again without my explicit yes. You get that?"

Tommy flinched visibly under that penetrating, merciless gaze.

He slowly lowered his eyes and clenched his fists.

"I won’t..." He said quietly, defeated. "I promise I won’t let her out again without permission. But just help her...I just can’t bear to see her like that..."