Chapter 485: Callighan’s Loss

Callighan walked through Brigantine in silence.

The town was darker at this hour.

Most of the people inside the town had already gone to sleep. Only the guards remained awake, moving between the streets with weapons in hand or standing beneath the weak lights placed near important buildings.

Callighan barely noticed them.

His mind was somewhere else.

Maybe it was because he could finally feel the end of his conflict with Marlon getting closer.

For months, everything had led toward this.

The Boardwalk.

Marlon.

The Screamer.

The attacks.

The prisoners.

The people Callighan had gathered under his control.

All of it.

Soon, it would end.

Either he would kill Marlon or he would die trying.

There was no other outcome left in his mind.

And strangely, even before it had happened, Callighan already felt hollow.

The revenge that had kept him moving for so long was almost within reach. The thought should have made him feel satisfied.

Instead, it made him feel empty.

Maybe because he knew that even if he killed Marlon, his mother would still be dead.

Prison would still have happened.

The years he lost would not return.

Nothing would truly be fixed.

But that only made him want to end it faster.

By the end of the week, Marlon would be dead.

Callighan had decided that much.

After walking for several minutes, he reached the part of Brigantine where prisoners were kept.

The buildings there were darker and more isolated from the rest of the settlement. Guards normally stood near the locked rooms, and the air always carried the same stale smell of damp walls, old wood, and fear.

But something was wrong.

Several armed men had gathered outside.

Too many.

Callighan slowed down.

His eyes moved over them.

They were standing around the main building, talking quietly among themselves. Some held rifles. Others had pistols at their waists. Their faces were difficult to see beneath the poor lighting, but Callighan recognized many of them.

Former prisoners.

Men from the same prison he had once been held in.

Men he had brought into Brigantine because they were useful.

A cold feeling moved through his chest.

Callighan stepped closer.

"What happened?" he asked.

The men became quiet.

Then Romero turned around.

He had been standing with his back to Callighan near the center of the gathered group. When he saw him, a smirk appeared on his face.

"Callighan," Romero said. "Finally."

Callighan’s eyes narrowed.

He kept walking forward.

Then he saw Gaspar.

Gaspar sat comfortably in an old chair near the side of the prisoner building, one leg crossed over the other as though he had been waiting for a meeting to begin. He looked relaxed and amused.

Like this was entertainment.

Callighan stopped.

His gaze became cold.

"You called me here?"

Gaspar smiled.

"I did."

Callighan’s eyes moved around the area again.

The men.

The weapons.

Romero standing near Gaspar instead of beside him.

The silence.

Then he saw it.

They were all connected.

Not just former prisoners.

They were men who had been growing more frustrated with his rules. Men who hated that he stopped them from hurting prisoners whenever they wanted. Men who thought his attacks against the Boardwalk were too slow. Men who wanted to take what they wanted without waiting for orders.

Callighan’s instincts screamed at him.

He took one step backward.

Too late.

A brutal kick struck the back of his knee.

Callighan grunted as his leg buckled beneath him.

He dropped down onto one knee.

Romero stood behind him.

"Sorry, buddy," Romero said with a smirk. "But your methods have been pissing us off."

Callighan twisted immediately.

He moved faster than Romero expected, rolling to the side and pulling the gun from his waist in one quick motion.

He raised it toward Romero.

But before he could fire, something shot through the air.

A yellow tentacle wrapped around his wrist.

Gaspar’s Plasma.

The force yanked Callighan’s arm downward.

His gun slipped from his hand and hit the ground.

Another tentacle struck his shoulder.

Then another wrapped around his chest.

Callighan hit the dirt hard.

More tendrils followed.

They pinned his arms.

His legs.

His torso.

The pressure against his body was crushing.

No matter how hard he tried to move, he could not even lift a finger.

Gaspar stood from the chair.

He stretched slightly, looking almost bored.

"What are you doing?" Callighan asked coldly.

Gaspar smiled.

"Taking over."

He walked closer.

"It turns out a lot of people aren’t fans of your little methods."

Callighan glared at him.

Gaspar sighed dramatically.

"God. If you want to kill that bastard Marlon, just send everyone over there and slaughter them."

He spread his hands.

"Simple."

Then he shook his head.

"But no. You keep your hypocrite and stupid morals and your stupid rules."

Gaspar looked down at Callighan with clear disgust.

"You keep acting like you’re better than everyone else. And because of that, it took us three fucking months to get where we are."

Callighan clenched his fists.

Or tried to.

The tentacles held him too tightly.

Gaspar crouched beside him.

"Now," he said, "where is it?"

Callighan did not respond.

Gaspar began searching his pockets.

He knew exactly what he was looking for.

The remote.

The Starakian device Zakthar had made for Callighan.

The one weapon that could force a Symbiote Host into agony. The one thing Callighan had kept as protection against Gaspar and also Ryan just in case.

Gaspar searched his jacket.

His belt.

Every pocket.

Then his smile slowly returned.

He stood up.

"Nothing."

Callighan said nothing.

The remote was not on him.

He had not carried it tonight.

Gaspar looked down at him.

"Fucking naive."

He laughed quietly.

"You came here alone. At night. Because Romero called you."

Romero gave a mocking shrug.

"Hey, don’t make me look like the villain here."

Gaspar laughed.

Callighan’s jaw clenched.

Gaspar stepped closer.

"You know, Romero started losing patience too."

Romero smirked.

Gaspar looked toward the gathered men.

"You kept acting like a pussy toward the prisoners. You kept telling people to wait. To be careful. To follow rules."

His voice grew louder.

"Who cares if one person dies? Who cares if a thousand people die?"

Callighan’s eyes hardened.

Gaspar grinned.

"We can kill whoever the fuck we want because we can."

He turned toward the men around them.

"Right?"

The gathered crowd responded immediately.

More than thirty voices cheered.

The sound echoed through the dark streets of Brigantine.

Callighan looked at them.

Men he had given shelter to.

Men he had armed.

Men he had kept around because they were useful.

He had always known they were dangerous.

He had simply believed he could control them.

He had believed fear, rules, and the promise of revenge would be enough to keep them obedient.

He had been wrong.

It was already a miracle he did for a while, simply because they were afraid of him but now Gaspar had turned on him.

Gaspar crouched again.

Then the tentacles shifted, forcing Callighan upright.

His knees were dragged beneath him until he was kneeling in the dirt.

"Come on," Gaspar said with a tired sigh. "I still think a lot of you, you know?"

Callighan glared at him.

Gaspar’s smile widened.

"But you hurt my feelings, Callighan."

The words were mocking.

Almost childish.

But there was something cruel beneath them.

Callighan looked at Gaspar.

Then at Romero.

Then at every man surrounding him.

"I should have killed all of you when I had the chance," he said.

Romero laughed.

"You should have."

Callighan’s expression did not change.

He had kept them around as shields.

Tools.

Disposable men who could take the risks he did not want to take himself.

He had never trusted them.

He had never respected them.

But he had believed he could use them until Marlon was dead.

That had been his mistake.

His stupidity and his weakness.

And now he was paying for it.

"Just kill me," Callighan said.

Gaspar stared at him.

Then he smirked.

"No."

Callighan’s eyes narrowed.

"No, no," Gaspar continued. "You don’t get to die that easily."

The tentacles around Callighan tightened slightly.

"You’re going to watch."

Gaspar stood.

"You’re going to see how everything ends."

He began walking away, then looked back over his shoulder.

"And I’ll bring you Marlon’s head."

He smiled.

"I owe you that much, at least. You made these past few months fun for me."

Callighan said nothing.

Gaspar’s smile only grew wider, almost delighted.

"By the way," he said lightly, "someone’s been dying to see you." He stepped aside. "Come on, Williams."

The tall Black man pushed through the crowd. The other prisoners scattered the moment they saw him. Williams still carried the marks of Callighan’s beating, swollen cheek, split lip, dark bruises along his jaw, but the rage in his eyes had only sharpened. Gaspar had just cut him loose.

Williams looked Callighan up and down and let out a low, ugly laugh.

"Fuck me. You look like shit."

Callighan answered with a cold stare.

Williams’s grin twisted. "Still staring at me like I’m garbage? Even now? Even like this?"

He stepped in close. Callighan’s expression didn’t shift.

Williams’s fist exploded across Callighan’s face.

The blow sent him crashing to the concrete. Williams was on him instantly, knees pinning his arms, fists already rising and falling in a brutal, rhythmic assault. Each punch landed with a wet, meaty impact. Blood sprayed across Callighan’s swollen features and spattered Williams’s knuckles.

"You piece of fucking shit!" Williams roared, voice filled with pure hatred. "You think you can put your hands on me and just walk away?!"

He kept swinging, hard and vicious, until Gaspar finally dragged him off. Williams staggered back, chest heaving, knuckles dripping. Callighan lay still, face a ruin of cuts, bruises, and blood.

Williams spat on the ground beside him.

"You better let me finish this fucker when we’re done," he growled.

"Of course," Gaspar laughed. "But first we get to enjoy ourselves."

He turned to the gathered men and spread his arms wide.

"The Boardwalk and that new community led by Ryan in Atlantic City. We’re going to break them. Take everything they own. Take their women and use them however the fuck we want, no rules, no limits. Just pure freedom in this new world!"

A savage cheer rose from the crowd.

"When?" Romero asked than quite impatiently.

"Soon," Gaspar said. "I just need the problematic ones removed first."

Romero’s expression darkened. His hand drifted to the mangled remains of his ear, the part Ryan’s bullet had torn away.

"You mean Marlon... and that grey-eyed fucker."

Gaspar nodded.

"They’re dangerous. We keep the original plan with Callighan. But before that, we clean house. Especially Ryan. I already know exactly how to make him crawl."

"How?" Romero asked.

"Mei." Gaspar’s voice was almost casual. "He’d do anything to get her back alive. Callighan treated her like something precious instead of the perfect leash she is." He shook his head in mild disappointment.

Williams’s head snapped up. A slow, filthy smile spread across his face.

"Ohhh. That tight little Asian chick?" He licked his lips, eyes already dark with intent. Without another word he turned and started walking.

"Where the fuck are you going?" Romero called after him.

Williams glanced back over his shoulder, grinning like a man who’d just been handed a gift.

"Where do you think? I’m gonna go rape that little cunt until she can’t walk straight. Should’ve done it the second we grabbed her. Callighan interrupted me last time. He ain’t interrupting shit now."

"Williams."

Gaspar called out before he completely left.

The big man stopped and turned, irritation flashing across his face.

"What."

Gaspar smiled. "Don’t break her. We still need her breathing."

Williams’s smirk returned, uglier than before.

"I won’t kill her. But by the time I’m finished, that pretty face of hers is gonna be a mess. I’m gonna fuck her throat raw, ruin her, and make sure she remembers every second of it. All fucking night."

He walked off without waiting for a reply.

Gaspar watched him go, then chuckled under his breath.

He was going to enjoy the look on Ryan’s face when he finally learned what had been done to his precious little Mei. By then, breaking the man would be almost effortless.