Harem Apocalypse: My Seed is the Cure?!

After the somewhat overwhelming welcome from the municipal office staff, I hefted the heavy equipment bags containing Mark's requested electrical components and made my way toward his makeshift workshop.

The familiar sounds of his work greeted me as I approached—the intermittent buzz of electrical equipment, the soft hum of cooling fans, and the occasional spark of welding work. Mark's dedication to his electrical grid project had become legendary among the municipal office community, and his workshop reflected that single-minded focus with workbenches covered in circuit boards, spools of copper wire, and various electronic components salvaged from across the region.

"Mark?" I called, pushing open the heavy metal door with my shoulder while balancing the equipment bags.

"Finally!" Came his enthusiastic response from somewhere deep within the organized chaos of his workspace. "Brat, please tell me you managed to find everything on my list."

Mark emerged from behind a towering rack of electrical equipment, his hair disheveled and his work clothes bearing the characteristic stains of someone who spent their days elbow-deep in technical projects. His eyes immediately fixed on the bags I was carrying, and I could see the barely contained excitement radiating from his expression.

"Let's see what we managed to recover," I said, setting the bags down on his main workbench and beginning to unpack the various components we'd risked our lives to retrieve.

Mark's hands moved quickly as he examined each piece of equipment, checking model numbers against his carefully maintained lists and testing connections quickly. His technical expertise allowed him to assess the condition and compatibility of each component within moments of handling it.

"The Siemens industrial switching units—perfect condition," he muttered, more to himself than to me. "High-capacity transformers, exactly the models I specified. Power regulation modules..." He looked up at me with genuine amazement. "Ryan, you actually found everything. Every single component on my priority list."

"We put our lives on the line for those switching units," I said with exaggeration, enjoying the opportunity to give Mark a hard time about his technical obsessions. "I hope they're worth the risk we took to get them."

Mark chuckled, though his attention remained focused on the equipment. "You won't regret it, I promise. Once I get the main grid infrastructure installed and operational, I'll prioritize getting electrical supply working at your house. Full solar panel installation, battery backup systems, the works. You'll have more reliable power than most pre-outbreak suburban homes."

His promise brought a genuine smile to my face. The prospect of consistent electricity for food preservation, lighting, and other essential systems would dramatically improve our quality of life and security. Mark's vision for a comprehensive electrical grid represented exactly the kind of long-term thinking that could transform our survival community into something approaching a sustainable settlement.

"That would make a significant difference for our group," I said, watching him carefully catalog each piece of equipment. "Reliable refrigeration alone would change how we manage food storage and preparation."

Mark nodded enthusiastically while making notes on his technical specifications. "The solar panel system I'm designing for residential installation will be completely independent of the main grid—battery backup, automatic load management, even emergency power isolation in case of system failures. It's going to be beautiful."

I waited until Mark had finished his initial equipment assessment, then glanced around the workshop to ensure we were alone before broaching a more sensitive topic.

"Mark," I said, lowering my voice slightly, "do you have any cigarettes I could get from you?"

He looked up from his work with understanding rather than surprise. Mark had been providing me with occasional tobacco supplies for months now, understanding that certain vices became more necessary rather than less during high-stress survival situations.

"Of course," he said, moving to a locked cabinet and retrieving a fresh pack. "Things still tough for you out there?"

Neither Mark nor anyone else in the municipal community knew about the Dullahan virus or the specific nature of the abilities and responsibilities it had given me, but Mark was perceptive enough to recognize that I carried burdens beyond those of a typical survivor.

"It's manageable," I replied, accepting the cigarettes gratefully. "Though there are some developing situations that have me concerned about long-term security."

Mark leaned against his workbench, giving me his full attention. "What kind of situations?"

I chose my words carefully, knowing that I needed to convey the seriousness of the threat without revealing information that could cause panic or raise questions I couldn't answer safely.

"There have been two incidents over the past month," I said. "Extremely loud screaming sounds that seem to be coming from the direction of the old radio station complex. Each time these screams occurred, we saw massive increases in infected activity—hordes moving toward Jackson Township from multiple directions."

Mark's expression grew more serious as he processed this information. "You think the sounds are somehow calling the infected? I guess it's loud but…"

"That's my assessment," I confirmed. "The timing is too consistent to be coincidental. Something at that radio station is attracting infected in unprecedented numbers, and I'm concerned about what might happen if we can't find a way to stop it."

Mark was quiet for several moments, his technical mind clearly working through the implications of what I'd described. Finally, he spoke with the measured tone of someone thinking through a complex problem.

"What exactly do you want to do about it?" he asked.

"I want to approach the radio station and find the source of these screams," I said. "But the sound itself is a problem—it's loud enough to be disorienting even at a distance. I need ideas about how to get close enough to investigate without being incapacitated by the noise."

Mark lit one of his own cigarettes and took several thoughtful drags before responding. "Sound dampening is definitely possible with the right equipment. Industrial-grade ear protection would be your first line of defense—the kind of headsets that construction workers use around heavy machinery. Beyond that, you could jury-rig additional sound insulation using foam padding or even improvised materials like thick cloth wrapped around your head."

He paused to tap ash into a makeshift ashtray constructed from a tin can. "For more sophisticated approaches, you could potentially use active noise cancellation if you had access to the right electronic components. Create opposing sound waves that cancel out specific frequencies. Though that would require knowing the exact frequency characteristics of whatever's making these screams."

"What about other defensive measures?" I asked. "If this thing can call infected from long distances, getting close to it probably means dealing with significant numbers of hostiles."

Mark's expression grew more concerned. "That's a much bigger problem. If you're talking about approaching something that can summon hordes of infected, you're essentially planning to walk into the center of a nest. Even with the best sound protection, you'd be vastly outnumbered and surrounded."

He took another drag from his cigarette, considering additional options. "Distraction tactics might help—creating noise or other stimuli at a distance to draw infected away from your approach route. Smoke grenades could provide visual concealment. But honestly, boy, what you're describing sounds incredibly dangerous."

I nodded, appreciating his concern while knowing that the full extent of the danger was beyond anything he could imagine. "There's another aspect I wanted to discuss. Hypothetically, how do you think Jackson Township would fare if we faced a coordinated assault by massive numbers of infected? I'm talking about thousands of them, attacking from multiple directions simultaneously."

Mark stared at me for several long moments, his expression shifting from concern to outright suspicion. "Do you think that's actually possible?"

I remained silent, unable to reveal that my visions had shown me exactly such a scenario in vivid detail. The Alien device showed me the Screamer would eventually unleash a final, massive call that would draw infected from miles in every direction, creating an overwhelming assault that could destroy every human settlement in the region.

Mark seemed to interpret my silence as confirmation of his worst fears. He finished his cigarette with quick, nervous drags before speaking again.

"If what you're describing actually happened—a coordinated assault by thousands of infected—our defensive options would be extremely limited," he said grimly. "The current fortifications around here are designed to handle normal infected encounters, not siege-level warfare."

He moved to a wall map that showed the township's layout and defensive positions, pointing to various locations as he spoke. "Option one would be to shelter in place. Seal all entrances, ration supplies, and hope our defenses hold until the infected lose interest and disperse. But that would require having enough food, water, and ammunition to outlast what could be weeks of siege conditions."

"And if the defenses don't hold?" I asked, though I already knew the answer.

Mark's expression grew darker. "Then everyone inside the perimeter dies. There wouldn't be any fallback positions or escape routes once the outer defenses are breached."

I nodded silently, already knowing that the shelter-in-place option was doomed to failure. The alien intelligence coordinating the infected wouldn't simply call them and then allow them to disperse randomly. The assault would be sustained and focused until every human in the area was eliminated. And the presence of another Dullahan virus holder somewhere in this community would serve as a beacon, ensuring that the infected would be drawn directly to population centers.

"The other option would be evacuation," Mark continued reluctantly. "Abandoning the township entirely and relocating the entire population to a more defensible location. But that presents its own massive challenges."

He gestured toward the map, indicating the surrounding areas. "We're talking about moving nearly hundred of people, including children, elderly, and injured individuals. The logistics alone would be staggering—transportation, supplies, security during movement, and finding a suitable destination that could accommodate everyone."

"And building new infrastructure from scratch," I added, thinking about all the work that had gone into establishing the municipal office community.

"Exactly. Starting over would mean abandoning months or years of progress. The electrical grid I'm building, the agricultural projects, the workshops and manufacturing capabilities—all of it would be lost. We'd be back to basic survival mode while trying to establish a new settlement."

Mark stubbed out his cigarette with more force than necessary, clearly frustrated by the limitations of both options. "Neither choice offers good odds for long-term survival. Staying means potentially facing overwhelming odds in a fixed position. Leaving means exposing everyone to the dangers of travel while abandoning everything we've built."

I nodded silently, understanding that Mark's analysis confirmed my own assessment of the situation. The Screamer represented an existential threat that conventional defensive measures couldn't address. Unless I could find a way to neutralize the alien device before it triggered the final assault, Jackson Township was doomed regardless of which defensive strategy they chose.

But as Mark finished outlining our grim defensive options, a new idea began forming in my mind. It was unconventional, probably dangerous, but it might offer a third alternative that neither of us had considered.

"Mark," I said suddenly, interrupting his pessimistic assessment, "what if we could record the frequency of these screams? If I could get close enough to register the exact sound pattern with some kind of device, would it be possible to reproduce that same frequency artificially?"

Mark looked up at me with obvious surprise, his mind clearly shifting gears to process this unexpected question. "Reproduce the frequency? What would be the purpose of that?"

I leaned forward, feeling excitement building as the concept took shape in my thoughts. "Think about it—if these screams can control infected movement and behavior, then maybe we could use artificial versions of the same signals to influence them ourselves. Create our own commands, redirect their movements, possibly even turn them away from populated areas."

Of course, I knew it wouldn't be a perfect solution. What we'd be creating would be a cheap reproduction compared to the sophisticated alien technology that had created the original Screamer device. The infected would always prioritize commands from their true controller over anything we could generate. But during the periods when the Screamer wasn't actively broadcasting, our artificial signals might be able to influence smaller groups of infected. And if we could time it right, we might even be able to create interference by overlapping our artificial screams with the real ones, potentially confusing the infected or disrupting their coordination.

Mark stared at me for several long moments, his expression shifting from surprise to genuine interest as he considered the technical implications of what I was suggesting.

"That's... actually a remarkably unique approach," he said slowly. "I have to admit, I never would have thought of trying to weaponize the very signals that are being used against us by whoever is doing. The concept has merit, though the execution would be extremely challenging, boy."

"But is it possible?" I pressed, encouraged by his response.

Mark stubbed out his cigarette and immediately lit another, a sure sign that his mind was working through complex technical problems. "Theoretically, yes. Sound is just vibration at specific frequencies, and any frequency can be reproduced if you have accurate enough measurements and the right equipment. But there would be significant practical challenges."

He began pacing around his workshop, gesturing with his cigarette as he spoke. "First, you'd need to get close enough to record the screams with high-fidelity equipment—something capable of capturing not just the basic frequency, but also the harmonic patterns, amplitude variations, and any other characteristics that make these signals effective for infected control."

"What kind of equipment would that require?" I asked.

"A professional-grade spectrum analyzer would be ideal, along with high-quality microphones designed for acoustic measurement," Mark replied. "I actually have some of that equipment here—salvaged it from the university's engineering department recentl. The devices are portable, battery-powered, and designed for field work."

He moved to a locked cabinet and pulled out after rummaging for a while what looked like a sophisticated piece of electronic test equipment, along with several specialized microphones and recording devices.

"This is a digital spectrum analyzer," he explained, setting the equipment on his workbench. "It can record and analyze sound frequencies with extraordinary precision, breaking down complex audio signals into their component parts. If you could get close enough to the source of these screams with this equipment, I could analyze the recordings and potentially create reproduction devices yeah."

I examined the equipment, noting its compact design and robust construction. "How close would I need to get?"

"That depends on the intensity of the original signal," Mark said. "For optimal recording quality, you'd probably want to be within a few hundred meters of the source. Close enough to get clear readings, but hopefully far enough away to avoid being completely incapacitated by the sound."

The thought of approaching that close to the Screamer made my stomach clench with apprehension after we nearly died against the Frost Walker, but I knew it was probably our best chance at developing any kind of countermeasure.

"And once you had accurate recordings, you could build devices to reproduce the signals?" I asked.

Mark nodded, though his expression remained cautious. "I could certainly try. The reproduction wouldn't be perfect—we'd be working with salvaged components and improvised equipment rather than whatever advanced technology created the original signals. But we might be able to create something effective enough to influence infected behavior, at least under certain circumstances."

He paused to take a long drag from his cigarette. "The real question is whether approaching that radio station is worth the enormous risk involved. You'd be walking into what amounts to the epicenter of infected activity in the region, carrying sensitive electronic equipment, with no guarantee that you'd be able to record what you need or escape afterward."

I was quiet for several moments, weighing the risks against the potential benefits. The mission would be incredibly dangerous, possibly suicidal. But if it succeeded, we might gain the ability to at least partially counter the Screamer's control over infected populations. And if we could disrupt the alien device's final summoning call, we might save a lot of lives.

"You'd need to approach that radio station," Mark continued.

I met his gaze steadily. "I know."

Mark studied my expression for a long moment, clearly recognizing the seriousness he saw there. "When you decide to do this—and I can see you've already made up your mind—give me at least twenty-four hours' notice. I'll need time to prepare the recording equipment, test the batteries, and brief you on proper operation procedures. This kind of mission will only get one chance, so we need to make sure everything works perfectly."

I nodded, already beginning to mentally plan the logistics of what would undoubtedly be the most dangerous mission of my life. The radio station, the alien device, the Screamer that could summon armies of infected—all of it was waiting out there, and now I had at least the beginning of a plan to confront it.