A Sickness in the Soil

The first time I saw the map of Skull Island, I thought it looked like a cracked dinner plate—fractured into uneven shards, each piece pretending to be its own country. Sector Six wasn't the biggest, but it sat in the center, the beating heart of Mercer's twisted kingdom-in-the-making.

After the ambush, the medics tried to get Ava to rest, but she wouldn't leave Theo's side. She sat by his bed, arms crossed, eyes unfocused, like her mind was chewing through something way bigger than his injuries. Meanwhile, Theo lay there sweating, the pulse in his neck jumping like a faulty metronome.

"It's not an infection," one of the medics muttered to another. "His vitals are tanking too fast."

I leaned in. "Then what is it?"

The medic hesitated, then glanced at me. "He's been marked."

"What the hell does that mean?"

"It means something followed you back from the ruins."

I blinked.

Back when we first entered Sector Twelve, Theo had stumbled upon a glowing orb embedded in the remains of a rusted tower. The thing hummed like a sleeping heartbeat and, like an idiot, Theo touched it. It had flared, pulsed red once, then went dark. We'd thought nothing of it.

Now I wasn't so sure.

"He didn't even take the damn thing," I said.

"You don't have to," the medic replied. "Some of them… tag you."

I stood in silence, watching Theo's body shiver beneath the thin sheet. He wasn't just sick. He was being hunted—from the inside out.

Ava's voice broke the silence. "We're going back."

"What?"

She stood. "To Sector Twelve. If that orb tagged him, there might be a way to untag him."

"You mean, like a receipt?"

She glared. "Like a cure."

"I was kidding."

She walked past me. "I wasn't."

Later that night, Mercer held another war council in that oversized tent of his. He sat at the head of a long wooden table, sipping tea like he didn't just send six people to die yesterday. The chairs around him were filled with Sector Six's elite—ex-military, scavengers, rogues, and opportunists.

And then there was me. Uninvited, but not unwelcome. Mercer always tolerated me the way a cat tolerates the mouse it hasn't eaten yet.

He smiled as I entered. "Jack Gulf. The nihilist messiah returns."

I didn't smile back. "Theo's dying."

"Ah." He set down his cup. "Shame. Bright kid. Too kind for this place."

"You sent us to a trap."

"I sent you to scout. The trap was your poor judgment."

"You're the one that told us Sector Twelve was unclaimed."

"It was. Until it wasn't."

I wanted to lunge across the table and slam his smug face into the wood. Instead, I exhaled slowly and sat down.

"You knew there was something there," I said.

Mercer steepled his fingers. "Jack, this island is older than sin. Every inch of it hums with old gods and broken laws. We all signed the same contract—you survive, or you don't. Blaming me won't save your friend."

"Then tell me how to."

Mercer tilted his head. "You're asking for a cure from the man who sent you to the infection?"

"Yeah," I said. "Because you're the only bastard on this rock with more secrets than scars."

He grinned at that. "Flatter me more."

"Help me, and I'll owe you."

Mercer's smile faded. That got his attention.

"You don't owe me anything, Jack," he said slowly. "But maybe… you'll be useful later."

Ava and I left at dawn.

We took only what we needed: weapons, rations, two canteens, and the map. Sector Twelve was two days away on foot, and we'd be walking into whatever cursed memory Theo had stirred up.

She didn't speak much the first day. Not that I blamed her. Ava wasn't one for idle talk, and I was still trying to figure out what was going on in that head of hers.

That night, by the fire, I tried.

"You and Theo," I said.

She looked up.

"You two close?"

"Closer than you think," she replied.

I waited. She didn't elaborate.

Instead, she asked, "Do you believe we're all here by accident?"

I shrugged. "I believe in accidents more than fate."

She tossed a stick into the fire. "I don't. I think Skull Island's alive. I think it chooses."

"Chooses what?"

"Who gets a second chance."

The flames cast her face in gold and shadow. She looked exhausted, haunted, like someone who'd already buried more than just friends.

"I didn't ask for a second chance," I muttered.

"No one does," she said. "That's what makes it one."

We reached the outskirts of Sector Twelve on the second night. The air was colder here, the trees thinner. Everything felt… watched. The tower where Theo found the orb stood like a jagged bone against the moonlight.

"You ready?" Ava asked.

"No," I said. "Let's do it anyway."

We climbed through the broken scaffolding and into the core chamber. Dust clung to the walls like spiderwebs. And there, half-buried in rubble, was the orb. Still. Silent.

Ava walked up to it slowly, her fingers twitching at her sides.

"I've seen something like this before," she said.

"Where?"

"In Sector Three. Years ago. Before the reset."

I blinked. "Reset?"

But she was already moving, pulling a thin blade from her pack. She pricked her finger and let a drop of blood fall onto the orb.

It flared red.

The tower shuddered.

I stepped back. "That's not good."

A low hum filled the room, like a heartbeat in reverse.

Suddenly, the orb cracked—and something stepped out of it.

Not a monster. Not a man.

Something in between.

It looked at us. And smiled.

The Man Who Wasn't

I've never been good at metaphors, but if I had to describe the thing that crawled out of the orb, I'd say it looked like guilt made flesh.

It was tall—almost too tall—its limbs stretched longer than any person's should be, like reality had been forced to fit it and gave up halfway. Its skin was glassy black, reflecting our faces in strange warps. Not a monster. Not quite. But not someone you'd invite to dinner either.

Ava didn't flinch. She raised her knife and planted her feet. Meanwhile, I was already calculating the fastest exit and how many seconds it would take to bail on her. (The answer was 3.2. I had options.)

Then it spoke.

"You came back."

The voice was wrong—like it came from inside my head but passed through a broken speaker first.

"Who are you?" Ava asked.

The thing tilted its head. "I'm what he touched."

She glanced at me. "It remembers Theo."

Of course it did. Theo wasn't the type to touch magical relics quietly. He had to go in, curious and hopeful, like an idiot with a heart. And this thing—whatever it was—latched onto him like a tick from another dimension.

I stepped forward, cautiously. "Did you infect him?"

"Infection," the thing repeated, amused. "No. I chose him."

"Why?"

"Because he wants to be better."

That shut us both up.

It walked a slow circle around the room, its feet making no sound on the stone floor. "This island doesn't reward survival. It rewards intent. The boy… he has intent."

"What about the dying part?" I asked. "That doesn't look like a reward."

"Nothing worth earning is painless."

Oh, great. We'd summoned a cosmic TED Talk.

Ava lowered her blade just an inch. "Is there a cure?"

The thing paused, and when it turned again, I swear its face looked just a little more like Theo's.

"He must prove he is worthy of the mark. If he fails, it will consume him. If he succeeds... he becomes more."

"More of what?" I asked.

The thing smiled, and I hated that it had teeth.

"More than you."

Suddenly the orb pulsed again, and the creature began to fade, its outline blurring like smoke in a wind tunnel.

"Wait," Ava said. "What does he have to do?"

Its last words echoed as it vanished:

"He must remember who he is, before the island decides for him."

We made the hike back to Sector Six in silence. No jokes. No snide remarks. Just the sound of boots on dirt and the occasional buzz of something that definitely had too many wings.

When we reached camp, it was near dusk. The sky hung low with bruised clouds. We ran straight to the infirmary.

Theo was awake.

Barely.

His eyes were open, glazed and wet, like he was seeing through three realities at once.

"Theo," Ava said, grabbing his hand.

He smiled faintly. "Did… did you get it?"

"No," I said. "But we talked to it. And apparently, you're in a final boss fight with yourself."

He coughed a laugh. "Sounds about right."

Ava looked at me over his shoulder. "He needs rest. And he needs space."

I nodded. "I'll go."

But just as I turned to leave, Theo grabbed my wrist. Hard.

"Jack…" he whispered.

"Yeah?"

"I saw something. When I touched the orb."

"What was it?"

He blinked slowly. "A throne. With no one on it. And a voice that said… 'not yet.'"

His grip loosened, and he fell back into the pillow.

I stood there for a moment, unsure whether I felt more unsettled by the throne… or the idea that maybe Theo was meant to sit on it.

Outside, the camp was buzzing.

Rumors were flying fast: Mercer had executed one of his captains for stealing supplies, Sector Eleven had been overrun, and a new group of contestants—twenty strong—had just arrived by boat, armed to the teeth and bearing a strange symbol: a red eye, wide open, painted on their chests.

Mercer stood on the central platform, barking orders like a king commanding ants. When he spotted me, he waved me over.

"Back from your little spirit quest?"

"Something like that," I said.

"Good. Because things are changing, Jack. Fast."

He pointed to a map.

"New players. New alliances. The hourglass is halfway empty. It's time to stop sightseeing and start conquering."

"And Theo?"

Mercer didn't even blink. "He'll either wake up stronger or die. That's the way of the game."

I clenched my fists. "You ever wonder if the island's watching you too?"

He smiled. "I hope it is. I want it to see what I build."

That night, I sat outside Theo's tent, watching the sky. Ava came to sit beside me, her usual guarded self a little looser now.

"You think he'll make it?" she asked.

"He has to," I said.

"You don't believe that."

"No," I said. "But it helps to say it."

She chuckled. "You're more optimistic than you act."

"Don't ruin my brand."

We sat in silence, two broken pieces leaning near each other, unsure if they could be glued or if they'd just shatter further.

Inside the tent, Theo stirred.

And on the far edge of camp, beyond the torches, Mercer watched the stars like they were answering only to him.

[To be continued ]