The whump-whump-whump of the helicopter blades was no longer distant; it was a deafening roar, a monstrous beast hovering directly above The Arkangel. The blinding white light, now a steady, intrusive beam, cut through the ballroom's gloom, illuminating the grotesque scene within. The metallic CRASH had been the sound of a breach, and now, the ship groaned under the weight of new, unfamiliar footsteps.
Suddenly, a section of the ceiling above them tore open with a screech of tortured metal. Ropes, thick and black, snaked down, followed by figures clad in dark, tactical gear. UN naval responders. Their faces, grim and unreadable behind visors, were a stark contrast to the dazed, disheveled women below.
What they found was a scene ripped from a fever dream. The ballroom, once a place of lavish parties, was now a candlelit sex cathedral. Moaning bodies, some still intertwined, others sprawled in exhaustion, littered the velvet furniture and the grimy floor. Flickering red LED lights cast an infernal glow over the scene. The air was thick with the cloying scent of sweat, bodily fluids, and a desperate, almost religious fervor.
Kavi lay limp on the velvet chair, crowned in a makeshift LED tiara, his body adorned with gold leaf and the fading, grotesque map of lipstick smears. He was unresponsive, his eyes still glazed, a silent, unmoving idol at the center of their deranged worship.
The first medic, a burly man with a horrified expression, slid down a rope and landed with a thud. His eyes widened, scanning the scene, then fixed on Kavi. "Jesus fucking Christ," he muttered, his voice hoarse with disbelief.
Medical teams followed, their faces a mixture of shock, disgust, and professional urgency. They moved with a practiced efficiency, but their movements were punctuated by gasps and muttered exclamations. They began to separate the women, gently but firmly, assessing their conditions, offering sips of water.
Sloan Vega, despite her disheveled appearance, managed a faint, unsettling smile as she was approached by a medic. Her eyes, though weary, held a triumphant gleam. Mona Cho, her face still severe, bared her teeth at a responder who tried to move her away from Kavi. "He's mine," she hissed, her voice a low snarl.
Kavi, finally stirred by the commotion, his body jolting with a sudden, violent spasm, threw up. A thin stream of bile and ration bar residue splattered onto the gold leaf on his stomach, a final, pathetic defilement of his sacred status.
As the women were gently but firmly separated and guided towards the ropes leading up to the waiting helicopters, Pepper Knox, her eyes wild and her voice raw, yelled back into the chaotic ballroom, "It's already begun! The Seed! It's already begun!"
A medic, kneeling by one of the women, his face pale, looked up at his colleague. His voice was a stunned whisper. "Jesus fucking Christ," he repeated, his eyes wide with a new, horrifying realization. "I think… I think they're all pregnant."
The words hung in the air, a chilling pronouncement that cut through the noise of the rescue operation. The implications, vast and terrifying, began to settle over the scene, promising a fallout far greater than anything the Arkangel had ever simulated.