Chapter 4: The Fused Man and the Founder’s Curse

After the tram stopped, we bounced along another half hour in a Humvee, sap streaking the windows, the pine air thick and cold. At the camp, our boots crunched on gravel, the loam and scent of wet metal heavy in the air. Inside, the twelve bronze pillars swallowed the beams of our flashlights. I felt like we’d wandered into a cathedral built for giants.

Professor McAllister was hunched over a notebook, dirt on his khakis. I called out, "Professor McAllister, any progress?"

He glanced up, voice rough. "Dr. Sanders, you’re here. Right now, we can only confirm this is a ceremonial site. Usually, they aren’t isolated—there should be other ruins nearby, but we haven’t found any yet."

I sat beside him, letting the silence stretch. "Did you serve in the military before archaeology?"

He picked at his sleeve, gaze lost in shadow. Everyone knew the rumors—Bronze Star, medical discharge, haunted past. He’d always been the guy who kept three flashlights in his truck and never sat with his back to the door.

"I got into archaeology so I could come back here," he admitted, voice low. "I don’t remember what happened back then. But it’s haunted me. I need to know the truth."

Natalie stood nearby, arms crossed, watching both of us with her detective’s gaze.

"Do you believe in that prophecy?" I asked.

"The false ones descend, humanity is exterminated…" he echoed. "False ones—beings that look human but aren’t."

He said it so quietly I almost missed it, thumb rubbing at his shirt over his heart. The silence pressed in, heavy and thick.

Suddenly, he stared at me, unmoving: "Maybe I’m a false one wearing human skin."

His eyes were wild, pupils blown wide, a flicker of panic—or guilt—crossing his face. My pulse jumped. Natalie shifted, one foot sliding back, ready for trouble.

Seeing his blank stare, a chill ran down my spine. Then McAllister forced a laugh and clapped my shoulder. "Relax, don’t be so nervous."

His laugh was brittle. I tried to smile, but my face felt frozen. Natalie’s hand lingered on her multitool, knuckles white. I gave her a thumbs-up behind my back, grateful she had my six.

Suddenly, a shrill scream echoed from deeper in the darkness. We rushed toward it, passing terrified teammates. The scream bounced off the pillars; radios crackled, panic mounting. Grad students sprinted past, one sobbing, another vomiting nearby.

McAllister grabbed a young tech whose hands shook so badly he nearly dropped his flashlight. "What happened?"

"Pr... Professor... Ben was... by the bronze pillar..." The tech’s voice broke, tears spilling over as he hugged himself.

Howard’s voice softened, cutting through the panic. "Take a breath. Tell me slowly."

The kid turned green, vomited, then managed, "You... you’d better go see for yourself..."

Natalie pressed a tissue into his hand. We exchanged a look and headed in.

A hundred yards down, we stopped short. Half a bright red tongue twitched in a pool of blood beside a pillar. The metallic scent mixed with the ever-present tang of old bronze. Natalie muttered something under her breath.

A dying moan drifted from behind the pillar. Natalie hung back, her breath fogging in the cold air. I wanted to turn away, but my feet wouldn’t move. McAllister grabbed a shovel and ran. When I caught up, both of them were frozen.

A man’s upper body was slumped against the bronze, his lower half fused into it. His torso twisted, face warped—eyes stacked, ears fused, lips puckered. He whispered, "Don’t look for the founder... I... we are no longer human..."

His voice barely carried, more vibration than sound. Before he could finish, he stiffened and died.

Natalie stepped back, eyes wide. I felt the world tilt under my feet. His words echoed in the silence, the metallic scent and distant sobs closing in.

Instinctively, I moved closer, but Natalie stopped me. "I’ll go." She squeezed my arm, her eyes saying, trust me.

I didn’t argue—Natalie was ten times braver than me, and we both knew it. She inspected the remains, gently touching the skin with a gloved finger. It turned to ash, floating away. The look in her eyes told me everything—this was no ordinary death.

McAllister collapsed, curled up on the ground, face twisted in pain, unconscious. The doctor checked him—no physical injuries, just shock. When he woke, he seemed changed. He stayed in camp, eating alone, staring at the tree line. For a moment, I wondered if he’d ever really left this place, or if part of him was still trapped in the darkness beneath the pines.

A few quiet days passed. Then the team made a new discovery: at the top of the complex, above the pillars, they found a massive hollow. It was a secret Japanese military base, left over from World War II. The news spread fast—by dinner, everyone was swapping theories about spies, gold, and curses. I kept quiet, unsure which story was worse: the truth or the rumors.