Chapter 6: The Monsters Within

The log belonged to Otani Heiichi, a Japanese biologist and head of Base 936. The entries spanned years, growing stranger with each page:

July 23, 1939: Researcher Sato Kenzo saw a bear-like creature with a human face in the forest. No proof—probably a mistake, but I have a bad feeling.

A sketch was taped to the page—rough, but the eyes followed you. The margin read, "Don’t trust your eyes."

July 28, 1939: A soldier on night duty saw the same thing. Not a coincidence. I’m going to investigate.

The entries got frantic. Otani was terrified, or obsessed—maybe both.

September 3, 1939: We caught the human-faced bear. Unbelievably, it could talk. I must study it.

There was a photo, blurry but unmistakable. Natalie recoiled when I showed her.

October 16, 1939: It’s more human than animal—human intelligence, human genes, just... different. Are there more? I released it to watch.

The next page was full of diagrams, arrows, frantic notes about “hybrid vigor” and “hidden genetics.”

February 9, 1940: We found more of them. Not just bears—some had tails, scales, seven fingers, two heads. I call them ‘false ones’ or ‘humanoids.’

Sketches filled the margins. Natalie’s hands shook as she photographed them.

May 11, 1940: They all come from the same place. What power made them?

The log turned desperate. Science gave way to fear.

September 29, 1940: Their origin is right under our base. An ancient ruin, tied to the mythical founder.

Handwriting grew wild, ink blotched. Pages listed failed experiments, test subjects, and a growing obsession with “American blood.”

June 4, 1941: This is supernatural—myth, not science. The people here are hidden monsters. Maybe even they don’t know. If I could use this power, the Empire would be unstoppable.

The last entries were nearly illegible:

July 1, 1941: The research continues. We’ve all mutated, in some way. For the Empire, we’ll give up everything.

Lines scratched out. At the end, one shaky line: "I am not what I was."

The rest of the log was torn away. The last page held Otani’s final words:

[We have failed. Nothing matters anymore. No matter how we struggle, by 2012, existing humanity will be ended.]

[To those who see this log in the future—leave.]

[To disappear silently is the last dignity for us "humans".]

The words echoed through me as we left the lab, the wind moaning through the pines. Somewhere an owl called, and I stared at my hands, wondering for the first time what secrets might be hiding just under my own skin.