Chapter 5: The Skins and the Logbook

The base was a mess. Stuff scattered everywhere, corpses lying in heaps. What was left of the Japanese soldiers wasn’t flesh, but twisted, hollow skins—each one split from spine to neck, as if something had clawed its way out. The scene reminded me of cicada shells, only human-sized. It was eerily similar to what happened to the archaeology team member, but different. I wondered if the two were connected.

We wore masks, the smell of death and rot thick even through the filters. Soldiers kept their hands on their weapons. One muttered, "Jesus, it’s like something out of a Stephen King novel." The horror felt familiar, filtered through every scary movie I’d ever seen.

From the equipment and uniforms, it was clear this was a research base. Glassware, surgical tools, and yellowed folders stamped in Japanese crowded the benches. Photos lined the walls—mutants, diagrams, Polaroids of things I couldn’t name. The air was heavy, thick with secrets nobody wanted to claim.

"Dr. Sanders, come here a moment." Major Sullivan’s voice was sharp. He ordered a soldier, "Bring Professor McAllister over."

I snapped to attention. "Did you find something?"

He nodded, jaw tight. "You need to see this for yourself."

He led me to a huge lab lined with morgue drawers. The air was colder here, the metal icy. Every label was in Japanese. My breath fogged in the light.

"Human experiments?" The words slipped out. Natalie came up beside me, lips pressed tight.

Sullivan hesitated—a first. "I’m not sure. They don’t really look like humans..."

He opened a drawer. The corpse inside looked human—at first. But its mouth was full of canine teeth. I opened more drawers. Some bodies had seven fingers, some a single eye in their forehead, others a tail at the base of the spine. Natalie muttered, "Jesus," stepping back.

"Could these be... the false ones?"

The Major didn’t answer. The room seemed to freeze around us.

The staff corpses looked normal, unlike the empty skins. All had died by suicide—gunshots, pistols still clutched, faces twisted in agony. Natalie took shaky photos for the record.

I went to the central lab table. Under a corpse, I found a logbook—old, fragile, but mostly intact. My hands shook as I opened it. The ink had faded, but the words were clear. This was no ordinary record; it was a confession from a man who’d seen too much.

Natalie whistled low. "If this is real, we’re in X-Files territory now."

The words burned in my mind. Descendants of the founders, American blood... are we really human? What exactly is a human?

Natalie squeezed my shoulder. I realized I was shaking. I stared at my hands, half-expecting the skin to split open. In the silence, the forest outside felt alive—and hungry.