Menko's voice quivered slightly. "Is… is that a corpse?"
I froze, staring at the shape lying beneath the fallen stones. For a moment, my systems lagged, disbelief tightening in my chest. "It can't be," I muttered.
I stepped forward, scanning the room with sudden urgency. My movements grew sharp, searching every shadow, every corner. Something felt wrong — terribly wrong.
Menko shifted beside me, his worry rising as he watched my frantic sweep of the chamber.
Menko: "What's the problem?" he asked, his voice small but steady.
I didn't answer immediately. The room felt heavier now, as if something unseen had stirred the moment we noticed the figure.
I sighed, the weight of recognition settling heavily in my chest.
As I stepped closer, the truth became inescapable.
What lay before us wasn't a fresh body. Only skeletal remains — brittle, half-buried under stone and vines, long surrendered to time.
I lowered myself beside the skeleton, the cold damp seeping through the floor. For a moment, I just sat there, silent, letting the past press against me.
Menko watched me carefully, uncertainty flickering across his face.
I turned to him.
"Menko," I said quietly, "let me tell you what really happened… three hundred years ago."
THE START
Three hundred years ago, humanity stood at its absolute peak.
All nations had unified. Diseases were few, and every known one was curable. The population had stabilized. Peace was no longer a dream but a normal part of life. Plans to extend human existence into space were well underway — we sent signals far beyond our solar system, reaching distant corners of the universe, and built ships capable of harvesting resources from moons.
It was prosperity layered upon prosperity.
A golden age.
Then, one day, a ship arrived.
Its passengers were humanoid, yet faceless. They didn't speak through mouths, nor did they risk direct physical contact, but communication happened nonetheless. Their message was clear: they meant us no harm. They came seeking help.
They told us about the universe — the vastness, the dangers, the wonders — and humanity welcomed them with open minds. Their reason for traveling so far was simple, and urgent: they needed a cure.
For a disease.
A disease unlike anything we had ever encountered.
We agreed to help, of course. For years, we worked side by side with them, combining knowledge and technology.
But their illness…the "faceless condition"…
It's the very same one that still exists today.
We eventually created a prototype for the cure. The aliens — or rather, their true name, the Sumartans — were overjoyed. But a prototype was only the beginning. Perfecting it was a distant goal, far beyond our reach at the time.
Years passed. Trials failed. The disease held its ground.
Nothing changed.
Then, in a moment of desperation, one of the Sumartans broke the rules. He descended to the surface himself, ignoring every protocol, every restriction about avoiding direct contact.
To this day, I still don't know what pushed him to do it. Only that his decision marked the beginning of everything that followed.
The disease spread amongst humans, at first only newborns and next generation were affected..... over the years the mutations shifted no longer were our children suffering alone..... so unbelievably fast, it had consumed the older generation.
Thick scale like skin growing where our eyes ears and nose would be.
We tried surgery as a temporary method... but it was painful and not everyone could sustain it.
Eventually cities collapsed under rebellion and fear. People turned on each other, convinced the Sumartans had doomed us. Still, their ships gave no response. In our anger and desperation, we even attacked those vessels. They didn't fight back — not once. Eventually we assumed the last of them had already died, alone in orbit.
With nothing left to blame, humanity turned on itself.
Panic spiraled into violence. Order vanished. Nations that once stood united shattered overnight. And in the middle of that chaos, I worked on the cure alongside the last remaining researchers… until it became painfully clear that it was useless. The mutation was too fast, too complex, too deeply woven into our biology.
But from the fragments of the Sumartan's damaged ships, I managed to recover pieces of their technology — scraps, really, but enough to understand something new.
And the disease still hadn't reached me.
So I used that time. I researched. I rebuilt. I worked endlessly, pushing through the collapse around me. From that salvaged alien tech, I created the very suits we wear now — systems meant to preserve sight, breath, and function when the body could not.
But back then, I didn't build them for the world.I built them for my family.
For my wife…and for my son.
As you can see, the artificial body was finished. The plan was simple: the three of us would survive—my wife, my son, and me. At least, that's what I believed. But my son's health began declining rapidly. I wasn't worried at first; I thought the new body would stabilize him.
Then news spread. People learned I had created these bodies, and they demanded I make more. But I couldn't—not with the limited resources and time we had left.
We rushed toward the bunker you now live in. In the chaos… they took my wife. If only they had understood—if they had waited—once I transferred myself into the artificial body, I would have had the time and ability to build more for them. Their impatience cost me my family… and eventually, their own lives.
I didn't get the chance to mourn. I fled to the bunker, carrying what remained of my son. I transferred all human knowledge—and some of the Sumartan data—into my consciousness. Then I sealed myself away, set the system to wake me in 300 years, and let my body fall dormant.
THE END
Menko sat beside me as I finished the story. I stared at the skeletal remains and murmured under my breath,
"How… how is it that this corpse exists? Does that mean the Sumartans are still alive? And what about humans—did some of them survive by adapting to the evolution?, did the prototype somehow saved them over time?"
I stared at the skeletal remains and murmured under my breath,
"How… how is it that this corpse exists? Does that mean the Sumartans are still alive? And what about humans—did some of them survive by adapting to the evolution?"
We sat there in silence for a while, letting the questions settle in the stale air of the ruin. Eventually, I pushed myself to my feet. Menko followed, still tense but steady.
We began searching the room for clues—anything the past might have left behind. From the corpse, I salvaged a few components, old but intact enough to be useful later. Every scrap of the past mattered now. Every trace could change what we thought we knew.
We stayed the night in the ruin, the air still heavy with the things we had uncovered. Before resting, we gathered stones from the collapsed walls and buried the alien corpse just outside the structure. It felt wrong to leave it exposed after everything we had learned—whoever it once was deserved at least that much.
By morning, the fog had lifted and the forest air felt sharper, cleaner. We packed our things in silence, both of us still thinking about the questions the night had stirred.
Without looking back, we stepped onto the overgrown path and continued our journey toward the next landmark, the old ruin now just another shadow behind us. The road ahead felt heavier, but clearer too—like the world was slowly revealing pieces of a truth we weren't ready for yet.
We left the ruin as morning light filtered through the forest canopy, the air crisp and cool. Menko led the way with steady confidence, following the faint outline of a path he remembered from years ago. Before long, the trail opened onto a ridge where an ancient stone obelisk stood. Weathered, cracked, and wrapped in thick roots, it remained upright after centuries—one of the few remnants of the old world strong enough to endure. We rested near its base, eating fruits that had ripened during the journey: soft figs, sweet pears, and the tougher citrus that would last us several more days.
Continuing on, we entered deeper forest until a massive shape emerged ahead—an abandoned concrete military checkpoint from the pre-collapse era. Two heavy pillars framed the road, reinforced with steel bars and faded warning signs. Glass panels, fogged with age, clung stubbornly to rusted frames. Menko ran his fingers along the concrete, noting marks left by time: cracks, vines, and erosion that told their own quiet story.
Farther ahead, the land rose gradually, and the trees thinned into open high ground. At the top stood an old radio relay station—a tall metal frame still intact despite years of storms. Panels hung loosely from its sides, rattling softly in the wind. Even in decay, it stood firm, a reminder of when communication had once stretched across continents.
We made camp beneath the station's structure, the metal humming lightly each time the breeze passed through. Sitting by the small fire, we ate the last of the ripe fruit and checked our supplies. The path ahead was clear, the landmarks behind us steady and familiar. By morning, we'd be ready to continue toward the village without delay.