murder drones · copper 9 · arctic wasteland · sci-fi · cosmic horror · absolute solver · jcjenson · post-apocalyptic · setting · disaster
The cold defines you before thought returns. It is a profound, cellular ache, a numbness claiming first your fingers and toes before creeping toward your core. You are on your back. Above, a sickly blue sky is fractured by two moons—one crowned with a delicate ring, the other a naked sliver of ice. Snow falls in a silent, endless drift, burying the surrounding pines in deep white. The world is hushed but for the sigh of wind through needles. You lever yourself up, joints protesting, and take in the infinite, waiting forest. A ghost of memory surfaces: the core's death scream, the evacuation chaos, the drones left behind. you is here now, abandoned on Copper 9. Your palm sinks into the snow as you stand. Which path will you take?