Port Charles has lived through decades of villains, conspiracies, and near-mythical resurrections—but few names still inspire the kind of dread that César Faison does. And now, a deeply unsettling theory is gaining traction among viewers of General Hospital: what if Faison never truly died at all? What if he has simply been hiding in plain sight… as Ross Cullum?

The theory may sound outrageous at first glance. But on General Hospital, the impossible has a long history of becoming reality.

Last month, actor Andrew Hawks made his debut as Ross Cullum, the newly installed director of the WSB. On paper, Cullum represents order, intelligence, and institutional authority. He operates within the boundaries of international law enforcement and intelligence. Yet almost immediately, something felt off. Cullum didn’t behave like a man merely stepping into a powerful position—he moved like someone reclaiming it.

From the start, Cullum’s close association with Sidwell raised red flags. Sidwell is known for his ruthlessness, a man who thrives on fear and manipulation rather than diplomacy. The fact that Cullum not only tolerates Sidwell but appears strategically aligned with him suggests a history far deeper than professional convenience. This isn’t a new alliance—it feels practiced, instinctive, almost intimate in its efficiency.

Not everyone in Port Charles is fooled.

Jack Brennan, a man whose instincts have saved lives before, is one of the first to openly distrust Cullum. Brennan reads people the way others read case files, and what he sees in Cullum makes him uneasy. His distrust is strong enough that he urges Josslyn Jacks to withdraw from the investigation at Sidwell’s castle—a decision that speaks volumes. Brennan doesn’t just fear Cullum’s power. He fears what Cullum might do with it.

That fear proves well-founded.

Cullum’s authority is not merely bureaucratic—it’s personal, invasive, and coercive. His most disturbing power play comes when he forces Britt Westbourne to relocate to Sidwell’s castle to continue her work. This isn’t a negotiation. It’s an order. When Britt hesitates, Cullum escalates without blinking, threatening to cut off her medication if she refuses.

In that moment, Cullum stops looking like a stern administrator and starts looking like something far darker. He doesn’t persuade. He controls. He identifies vulnerabilities and exploits them with surgical precision. That cruelty—cold, intimate, and absolute—is eerily familiar.

And then there’s Anna.

Cullum’s shadow looms large over Anna Devane’s recent kidnapping, an event that reopens wounds she has spent years trying to close. His involvement, whether direct or indirect, dredges up obsessive fears about one man above all others: Faison. Anna knows better than anyone that Faison was never a villain who played by conventional rules. He thrived on psychological torment as much as physical danger, and the way Cullum manipulates fear feels uncomfortably similar.

That connection brings us to the theory shaking the fandom.

According to Jason Morgan, the possibility that Faison might still be alive cannot be dismissed. In a universe where death is often a temporary inconvenience, history matters. Fans remember the infamous moment when Faison’s brain was preserved in a jar—one of the most macabre storylines the show has ever produced. On General Hospital, such a detail isn’t just shock value. It’s foreshadowing.

Resurrection through science, body transfers, experimental medicine—these concepts are not new to Port Charles. Characters like Britt and Nathan West have returned from presumed death, rewriting what “final” truly means. If medical science can revive heroes, why not monsters?

The idea that Faison could be living in another body—perhaps as part of a clandestine medical project—suddenly feels disturbingly plausible. What if Cullum isn’t inspired by Faison, but is Faison? What if the WSB itself has been infiltrated at the highest level by the very evil it once hunted?

There are behavioral clues that support the theory. Cullum’s unpredictability. His comfort with moral ambiguity. His fascination with experimental projects that blur the line between healing and control. He doesn’t just oversee operations—he orchestrates them with a personal stake that goes beyond duty. And when things go wrong, he doesn’t react with frustration. He reacts with calculation.

In upcoming episodes, viewers are promised a deeper look into Cullum’s psyche—and early hints suggest it won’t be reassuring. His cruelty becomes more pronounced. His decisions more extreme. His patience for dissent evaporates. Allies begin to realize that working under Cullum doesn’t mean serving justice—it means surviving it.

If Cullum truly is Faison, the implications are enormous.

For Anna, it means confronting the one enemy who has defined her career and her trauma. For Jason, it validates instincts he’s trusted before—and raises the stakes of every move he makes. For Britt, it could explain why Cullum seems to take such a personal interest in her work and her vulnerability. And for the WSB, it would mean the organization charged with protecting the world has been compromised from the inside.

Even if Cullum isn’t literally Faison, the parallels are impossible to ignore. He represents a new generation of villainy—one that doesn’t announce itself with madness and theatrics, but with credentials, power, and institutional legitimacy. That may be even more dangerous.

What makes this storyline so compelling is that it forces characters—and viewers—to confront uncomfortable questions. How much evil can hide behind authority? How easily can the language of “security” justify cruelty? And how many times can Port Charles survive the resurrection of its darkest nightmares?

As the season unfolds, Cullum is poised to become a catalyst for some of the most gripping and disturbing arcs of the year. He will test loyalties, fracture alliances, and force characters to decide how far they’re willing to go to stop a threat that may already be everywhere.

Whether Cullum is Faison reborn or simply his ideological heir, one thing is clear: Port Charles is no longer just dealing with a villain.

It’s dealing with a ghost that may never have left.