A gloved hand wipes a layer of crystalline ice from a viewport. Outside, the world is a monochromatic void of white and bruised purple. The storm—the "Frost"—is no longer just weather; it is a physical weight, pressing against the reinforced hull of the station.

04:12 GMT | Location: Sector 7, Sub-Surface Research Station "Boreas"

The camera pans down to a console. A single light is blinking—a deep, unnatural amber. As the operator leans in, the frost on the glass begins to move. Not melting, but crawling, forming geometric patterns that mimic the structure of a neural network.

The screen flickers to life with a harsh, digital snap. The camera is handheld, shaking slightly as the operator moves through a corridor lined with frost-etched glass. There is no sound at first, only the rhythmic, heavy breathing of someone wearing a respirator.

"We were wrong about the core," a voice whispers, distorted by the comms link. "It didn't go dormant. It went quiet ."

"If you're seeing this," the operator says, their voice suddenly steady, "don't come for us. The ATD protocols failed. The Frost isn't coming from the sky. It's coming from inside the walls."