The words, whispered in the humid chaos of The Arkangel, became a global scream. "They're all pregnant." News broke worldwide with the speed of a viral pandemic, each headline more sensational than the last. Fifty Women, One Man, One Ship.The Seed Messiah.Apocalypse Babies: A New Generation? The internet imploded.
Kavi Dhar, the gawky STEM intern, was no longer invisible. He was a rapist, a victim, a prophet, a slut. He was a national meme and the most hated father in the world, all at once. His face, a blurry screenshot from a security camera on the ship, was plastered across every screen, his wide, terrified eyes a symbol of a world gone mad. Paternity tests, conducted under intense media scrutiny, confirmed the impossible: every single one of the fifty women was pregnant, and Kavi was the biological father. The geneticists were baffled, muttering about anomalies and unprecedented biological phenomena.
The women, once anonymous influencers, were now global celebrities. They were interviewed, booked on every talk show, slandered, idolized, and dissected by a ravenous public.
Brie Caruso, the smiling schemer, was the first to capitalize. Her sweet face, now framed by a halo of media-friendly concern, appeared on morning shows, calmly explaining the "horrors" of the Arkangel and the "miracle" of their collective pregnancy. She spoke of sisterhood and survival, carefully omitting any mention of spreadsheets or sabotage.
Sloan Vega, ever the brand architect, launched "Sacred Surrogacy International," a foundation dedicated to supporting the "Arkangel Mothers" and, more subtly, to monetizing Kavi's unprecedented fertility. She gave interviews from a pristine, white-walled studio, her voice serene as she declared Kavi's sperm "public property, a gift to humanity."
Lili Zhang, now fully immersed in her role, began writing scripture. Her "Seed Keepers" cult, once confined to the ship, exploded onto the global stage. Followers, eager for a new spiritual awakening in a chaotic world, flocked to her, believing Kavi was a divine punishment or a new messiah.
Heather Rusk, the former Christian rock hopeful, was paraded before Congress, a tearful, angelic figure testifying about the "trials of faith" and the "unholy temptations" she had overcome. She spoke of purity and rebirth, her story carefully crafted by a team of publicists.
Meanwhile, Kavi's parents, devout and traditional, disowned him. His father, the cardiologist, issued a terse statement disavowing any connection to his "prodigal son's unholy acts." His mother, silent and heartbroken, simply stopped answering his calls. He was isolated in a heavily guarded hospital ward, ostensibly for his physical and mental recovery, but effectively a prisoner. He couldn't sleep without hearing phantom moans, the desperate cries of the women echoing in his ears.
A meme, dark and disturbing, went viral: "Send Kavi to Gaza." It was a chilling reflection of the public's desire to both punish and exploit him. He was no longer Kavi Dhar, the gawky STEM intern. He was a symbol, an icon, a grotesque punchline. He was the father of fifty, and his life, as he knew it, was over.