Harem Apocalypse: Every Moan Levels Us Up!

Chapter 173: Behind the Walls.

The car door had barely clicked shut behind me when Max Donman appeared from nowhere. His hand shot out, fingers clamping around my throat like a vice, and slammed me back against the vehicle. My spine hit the metal with a heavy, ringing thud.

"Where is she?" he asked, face inches from mine. His breath was hot, controlled fury radiating off him in waves.

This wasn’t just about his sister. Some of it was about Sherry. About every polite smile that had been hiding something uglier since we returned from the Fallen City.

"Hospital," I said, not fighting the grip. My voice came out tight around his fingers. "She’s getting treated. She’s fine."

"You were her partner and you walk away whole?"

"She’s alive, Max. Go see her."

His grip tightened for one dangerous second, thumb pressing hard into the side of my neck where the pulse hammered. His eyes burned. Then the agents around us registered what was happening and moved closer.

Max released me with a sharp shove, stepping back. The anger was still there, barely leashed, but he had nowhere left to put it.

"If anything happens to her," he warned, breathing hard through his nose, "I’ll tear you apart."

He turned and walked off without waiting for a reply, shoulders rigid, fists clenched at his sides.

I straightened up, rubbing my throat where his fingers had left red imprints. I watched him go, then turned toward the CGI doors where they had just taken Mary.

One ghost dead. One assassin in custody by her own choice. A partner in a hospital bed. A brother who hated me more now than he had this morning.

Nesto came over from the cluster of agents, blue hair messy as always.

"Hey," he said. "You okay?"

"I’m good." I tapped his shoulder and we started walking toward the building together. The evening was still young. We’d spent most of the day at the hospital beside Becky.

"Max rarely loses it like that," Nesto said as we went in, voice low.

My communication watch lit up on my wrist. Bala calling. I answered.

"Abram." His voice, level as ever. "My office. Now."

The line cut. I looked at Nesto.

"Duty calls," I said, and headed for the elevator, wondering which version of this day Bala wanted to talk about. The dead ghost. The captured assassin. Or something I hadn’t seen coming yet.

***

Bala was pacing outside his office, coat flaring with each sharp turn. Not settled. When he saw me he went in without a word, and I followed.

He sat on the edge of his desk, one leg still on the floor, his face working through something I hadn’t been told yet. The overhead lights cast hard shadows under his eyes.

"Sit," he said.

I sat.

"How was the mission?"

"Successful," I said.

He nodded. He already knew everything about how it had gone. "How’s your partner?"

"She’ll be fine, sir." freewebnσvel.cѳm

"Yeah." He nodded again, but his face made clear he hadn’t called me here for a mission report. "Abram. I want to ask you something."

"Go ahead."

"What’s the difference between the walls and the world outside?"

I didn’t know why he was asking. But I was fairly certain why he was asking me in particular.

"The difference is visible," I said.

He looked at me. "Really." He stood. "I was born inside these walls. My father trained me to protect them from the time I was a boy. I never had the chance to think on my own."

He moved around the desk to his chair and sat, fingers drumming once on the polished wood.

"My father was one of the founders of CGI. We replaced a government that had ruled the walls since they were raised." His eyes held mine. "He told me certain families were influential in lifting the walls and in the rise of CGI. We’ve worked with those families for decades."

He paused, like he was deciding whether to keep going.

"From the time I could speak, I knew we were alive because of the walls. I’ve lived for them. The infected have been my enemy my entire life."

He stood again, restless. "And I hadn’t questioned any of it, Abram. Not until yesterday. Now I think the walls are hiding something."

"Why?" I asked. I knew most of what he was circling toward. What I didn’t know was what had cracked the certainty of a man who had served this system his whole life.

He started toward the door. "Come with me."

I followed.

Bala moved down the corridor with long, purposeful strides, coat snapping behind him like a banner in the wind. I kept pace, the polished floors throwing our reflections back in distorted streaks. Agents snapped to attention as we passed. He didn’t acknowledge any of them. His shoulders were tight, jaw set. Whatever had broken in him was still raw.

We reached a secure elevator at the end of the hall. He pressed his palm to the scanner. The doors opened. We stepped in and the car dropped fast and smooth.

"What did you notice out there," he asked. "On the last mission."

I didn’t answer. I didn’t know which part he was reaching for.

"Sinn’s report says Owen sabotaged the mission. Owen works for the Belmontes. One of the families we’ve worked with for years." He said it flatly.

"Yeah."

"They didn’t want us to succeed. That made me start thinking yesterday. Today confirmed it." He paused. "Do you know why I trust you?"

"No."

"Because you’re an outsider. You see things differently. And Sinn speaks highly of you." The elevator stopped.

The doors opened onto a dim sub-level. Concrete walls. Heavy security doors. The air was colder here, carrying the metallic tang of old machinery and something sharper underneath it.

Bala led me through a series of checkpoints, each opening with a heavy clunk after his palm scan. Finally we reached a large observation room. One entire wall was glass, thick and reinforced, looking into a sealed chamber beyond.

Inside the chamber stood a single naked figure.

The specimen we had carried out of the Fallen City. The girl whose blue eyes had been trying to tell me something while tied inside the boot.

She was suspended in some kind of transparent containment field, arms slightly spread, feet hovering just above the floor. Her skin was pale under the harsh white lights, almost luminous. Long dark hair drifted as if underwater.

Even from behind the thick reinforced glass, I could see the slow, deliberate rise and fall of her chest. Her nipples were dark against the pale skin, hardened by the chill of the chamber. Her veins pulsed faintly in time with her heartbeat, the only visible sign that she was truly alive.

Bala stopped beside me, staring through the glass.

"That," he said quietly, "is what the walls are hiding."

The girl slowly lifted her head. Her blue eyes found us through the reinforced glass — sharp, aware, and far too knowing for something that was supposed to be mindless. She looked straight at me, and for a moment the containment field seemed to flicker.