Something was watching them. Not a predator, exactly—more like the echo of one.
Maren stopped mid-swing, the machete biting halfway through a vine as she listened. The jungle didn’t breathe the way it should. No birds. No insects. Just the distant hiss of leaves shifting with a breeze that didn’t touch their skin.
Behind her, Rulian halted too, robes clinging damply to his stomach. He was sweating like a man who believed in judgment and still sinned daily.
“You hear that?” she asked.
“I hear nothing,” he said. “Which is worse.”
The path ahead tilted downward, a muddy throat of roots and algae-slick stones. At its base, the ruins rose—jagged blocks swallowed by creepers, crowned by a crumbling ziggurat. It looked less like a temple and more like the place gods went to rot.
Maren pulled a damp cloth from her belt and wiped the screen of her voltmeter—a gutted Game Boy wired to a battery the size of a lunchbox. A single green LED blinked faintly.
“Signal’s strong. Could be a power core. Or a drive. Maybe even…”
Rulian grinned, teeth stained with betel bark. “Divine relic.”
“Don’t start preaching.”
He held up his black crucifix like a badge. “Preaching is tax-exempt.”
They reached the base of the ziggurat. Its mouth yawned open—no doors, no guardians, just ancient stone and a stench like scorched copper.
They stepped inside.
The temperature dropped instantly. The light from their chest lamps trembled on the walls, catching glimpses of carvings: not gods, not demons—just shapes. Icons. A pear with a bite missing. A bird mid-scream. A clock set to nowhere.
Rulian muttered a prayer under his breath, fingers dancing across invisible circuits in the air. Not that he believed. But belief was sometimes about covering your bets.
Maren led them deeper. Down a spiral. Through halls where the dust was too evenly settled. Where the air didn’t move.
Then the chamber opened.
Round. Silent. Lit only by their breath and a low, blue hum from the center.
The pedestal stood in the center like an offering, or a challenge. Resting atop it: a glass slab. No scratches. No cracks. Sleek, silver-edged.
Ancient.
Perfect.
Maren exhaled slowly, and the sound caught in her throat.
“iPhone 16,” she whispered.
Even Rulian bowed his head. “We have found the shrine.”
She stepped forward, heart ticking in her ears. Her fingers hovered, then closed around it.
The screen blinked on. Full battery. No prompt. No passcode.
Just light.
Then the app opened by itself. A pink note. A black field. White lettering.
TikTok.
“No signal,” Maren said, voice hollow. “How—”
The feed loaded instantly.
First: a teenager mouthing words in front of a bathroom mirror. The captions blinked:
“Day 89 of dancing until someone notices me!”
Music. Colors. Cuts. Another video.
A man eating nails. A dog playing piano. A glitching face.
Rulian laughed. Just once, high and sharp. “It’s… divine.”
Maren didn’t answer. Her thumb twitched. Another video. Another.
Rulian collapsed to his knees. Tears ran down his face. “Blessed be the feed.”
Her hand wouldn’t stop. It didn’t want to stop. Each swipe was better. Faster.
The phone vibrated softly in rhythm with her heartbeat.
A new video. A voice. “Don’t scroll. This is for you.”
Her pupils dilated.
Behind them, the chamber’s outer ring began to glow. Soft lights, warm and inviting. They illuminated what had been hidden.
Skeletons.
Slumped against the walls in perfect rows. Cradling shattered phones. Grinning, eyeless faces turned forever toward the altar.
Another video.
“Wait for the twist at the end!”
They did.
They all did.
Curious how much is AI? Read the prompts here.