Harem Apocalypse: Every Moan Levels Us Up!

I knocked once and pushed the door open mid-meeting.

Bala didn’t pause. His voice kept rolling, smooth and commanding, as I stepped inside. I crossed the room under the weight of several pairs of eyes and dropped into an empty chair near the back, the metal legs scraping sharply against the floor. The room smelled of fresh coffee and tension.

Max, Danny, Sherry, Ernesto, Rebecca, all of them sat with the specific posture of people who had already been briefed and were now receiving final details. Shoulders squared. Eyes focused. Hands resting on the table or in laps, still.

"Max and Danny, you know your field," Bala said, gesturing once with two fingers. "Sherry and Ernesto, your mission is clear."

He looked at me once. A single, measured glance, noting the late arrival and filing it away without comment.

"Who’s catching Abram up?" he asked.

"I will," Sherry said immediately.

"I’ll do it," Rebecca said, half a second behind her.

The overlap hung in the air for a beat, sharp and telling.

"Rebecca," Bala decided, voice flat. "You’re his partner. Brief him fully." He swept his gaze around the circle one last time. "The mission has already started."

He turned and walked toward the door, coat flaring once. He stopped in the doorway and looked back.

"Abram. With me."

I stood. Rebecca’s eyes followed me, sharp and unreadable. Sherry’s gaze lingered a fraction longer, something quieter behind it. I didn’t look at anyone else as I crossed the room.

Bala held the door for me. I stepped through. He closed it behind us with a soft, decisive click that cut off the low murmur starting inside the room.

We walked the corridor side by side, his footsteps measured and crisp, mine falling in perfect sync. The overhead lights cast long, shifting shadows ahead of us across the polished floor, our silhouettes stretching like dark blades cutting through sterile white.

"Sorry to pull you from leave early," Bala said, eyes fixed forward.

"I understand," I said.

He nodded once, sharp, economical, the nod of a man who had received the only acceptable answer and was already moving on.

We turned a corner. The corridor narrowed. Our boots struck the floor in overlapping echoes, the sound bouncing off the walls in the specific way of buildings built to feel important and permanent.

"Sinn spoke highly of you," Bala continued, voice low. "Genuinely impressed. That doesn’t happen often with Sinn."

"All of us were remarkable out there," I said.

He glanced sideways at me. The look of someone checking for performance and finding none.

"Do you remember Speed?" he asked.

"Yes."

"What do you remember?"

"He nearly got us all killed before he died," I said. "Touched an infected when he had no reason to."

"Reckless," Bala said. "Stupid. Also from one of the four conservative families that can cause serious problems inside these walls if they decide to." His coat flared slightly with each step. "Grief is a weapon when the wrong people get hold of it. I need that grief managed before someone uses it against us. That’s why I called you back early. I needed people who were actually there."

He stopped outside the elevator and pressed the call button. The doors opened with a soft chime.

"Any questions?"

I had none worth asking yet.

"Speed had a reputation with women," Bala said as he stepped into the elevator alone. "Which is why I’m sending you rather than Sherry. You’ll understand the family better." He pressed the button for the lower level. "What do I want from you?"

"You want me to lie," I said, cutting straight through whatever setup was coming.

He looked at me with the expression of someone who had just had their conclusion delivered before their argument.

"Very sharp," he said. "Yes. Lie. The naked mansion needs a lie." The elevator doors began to close. "Lie well and everything stays manageable."

The doors sealed with a quiet hiss, cutting him off. The numbers above the elevator started descending.

The naked mansion, I thought, standing alone in the corridor. Whatever that means.

But I understood the assignment. Go to Speed’s family. Tell them what they needed to hear. Keep the grief from becoming a political problem.

I turned and walked back toward the mission room. My boots echoed sharply off the floor with every step.

Rebecca Donman was the only one left when I entered. She sat at the table with her sword resting across her lap, blonde hair braided into tight locks, watching the door as I came through it. Material transmutation. Level eight. The girl who had softened a wall to absorb my impact and turned a bullet into a coin without flinching.

My CGI partner.

"Ready?" she asked, voice cool and already in motion.

"Brief me," I said, dropping into the chair across from her.

She stood up immediately, sword already sliding into the sheath at her back with a smooth metallic click. "I thought Bala briefed you."

"Not in detail."

"I’ll explain on the way. We don’t have time." She was already walking, boots striking the floor with sharp, purposeful clicks.

"Wait," I called, pushing up and following her out. "Are you always this serious?"

She didn’t slow down, blonde braid swinging like a pendulum between her shoulders.

"I was just outside the walls," I said, catching up as we hit the parking lot. Sunlight glared off rows of black vehicles. "Give me a second."

"Do you drive?" she asked, heading straight for a sleek, unmarked car.

"No."

She opened the driver’s side, tossed the sword into the back seat with a heavy thud, and dropped behind the wheel. I slid into the passenger seat. The leather was cool against my back.

"Rebecca?" I tried.

Her face made it very clear she had somewhere to be and this conversation wasn’t on the route.

"Becky," she said, starting the engine with a low growl.

"Bram," I countered.

She pulled out fast, tires biting asphalt.

"What briefing was Lord Bala referring to?" I asked as we merged into traffic.

"He told me you’d do the talking," she said, making a sharp turn off the main road. Buildings blurred past the windows. "He said there’s one complication at the mansion. Manageable, he said."

"Why is it called the naked mansion?" I asked.

She gave me a sideways look that confirmed she didn’t know either.

We drove through the city and turned onto a quiet, tree-lined street. Ancient trees arched overhead, their branches forming a green tunnel. At the end of it, a large mansion sat behind tall iron gates, elegant and imposing under the late morning sun.

We stopped. A man came out to meet us. Completely naked.

His skin was pale under the sunlight, small pecker swinging slightly as he walked toward the car with calm, unhurried steps.

"Hello," I said, keeping my voice professional. "We’re here to see Mrs. Rivers."

He walked closer. Becky went very still in the driver’s seat, knuckles whitening on the steering wheel.

"Is he insane?" she muttered under her breath.

"Mrs. Rivers is available," the naked man said, stopping a few feet away. "But this mansion has one rule."

Becky looked at me. I looked at her. Bala’s words arrived in full, brutal context.

One small complication. Manageable.

"No way," Becky said, voice tight.

"Yes way," I said.

The naked guard waited patiently, sunlight glinting off his bare shoulders, completely unbothered by our reaction.

The iron gates began to open with a low mechanical hum.