"Mr. Weyland, I strongly advise against this. Navigation systems could fail in this extreme weather, and we might get lost in the Antarctic wilderness!"
Another explorer named Victor chimed in, echoing the concern.
Charles was getting anxious. This expedition was his carefully planned masterpiece, carrying all his hopes. The preparation alone had cost millions of dollars. If someone beat him to the punch, all that money would go down the drain.
"Is there really no way?"
Charles turned to the scientists on his team.
The geologist spoke up.
"The Antarctic is a magnetic pole. Most navigation systems are unreliable here to begin with, and with a blizzard on top of that, getting lost is almost guaranteed."
The meteorologist nodded in agreement.
"Starting early isn't always an advantage. In this kind of extreme weather, they won't get far. Their snow vehicles might even break down."
Convinced, Charles decided against setting out but was still uneasy. He sought out Roy to talk it over.
"Roy, do you think this expedition will succeed?"
Roy flashed a confident smile.
"Absolutely, no one's beating us to it!"
Even if Lucas Barnes reached the destination first, he'd just be walking into a trap.
The real question was whether Charles' discovery could be made public. Most likely, the FEA or Area 51 would swoop in and classify it. At best, Charles' name might appear in declassified files fifty years from now—when he'd long been reduced to ashes.
Oh well, some recognition was better than none. The FEA and Area 51 would probably compensate Charles anyway.
By two in the afternoon, the blizzard started to weaken. Though some snow and wind lingered, visibility was no longer an issue.
Charles couldn't wait any longer and gave the order to move out. Three snow expedition vehicles set off.
Traveling across Antarctica wasn't exactly thrilling.
Starting from McMurdo Station, you could still see patches of rocky ground peeking through the snow. It was October, not the coldest time in Antarctica.
As everyone knows, the Southern Hemisphere's seasons are opposite to the Northern Hemisphere's. While the north was slipping into fall, the south was heading into summer, making this the warmest time in Antarctica.
Heather and Penny were excited at first. After all, ninety-nine percent of the world's population had never set foot on this mysterious continent.
But after staring at endless white snowfields, the two women quickly lost interest.
What's so exciting about a sea of white?
Worse, staring at snow for too long could cause snow blindness. Snow reflects UV rays, and prolonged exposure can inflame the retina. Anyone spending extended time in snowy environments needs sunglasses or protective goggles to avoid going blind.
Thankfully, Charles' preparations were thorough, so Heather and Penny didn't have to worry.
October also happened to be the breeding season for most penguin species. Occasionally, they'd spot adorable penguins waddling by the roadside.
Heather and Penny would whip out their camcorders to record, with a professional biologist on hand to explain penguin behavior, making it feel almost like a sightseeing tour.
The only one looking glum was Charles. He seemed incredibly tense, clearly worried that Lucas Barnes might beat him to the goal.
"How much longer until we reach Aurora Station?"
Aurora Station was the research outpost where Charles' "friend" was based, deep in the Antarctic interior.
The driver of the Conqueror, no ordinary driver himself, responded, "Mr. Weyland, we should arrive around eight tonight."
"Eight, huh? Alright, push through tonight after we get the coordinates. Drive all night to the destination, and I'll throw in a bonus for you!"
The promise of extra cash lit a fire under the driver.
"No problem, Mr. Weyland! I could drive two nights straight if you need!"
Charles wasn't thrilled about that idea. A crash in a vehicle this massive would be catastrophic.
But it was just a figure of speech. Once they reached the destination, the team would start their exploration, giving the driver plenty of time to rest in the vehicle.
Just then, the meteorologist delivered bad news.
"Mr. Weyland, satellite data suggests another blizzard tonight, and it won't be any weaker than the one earlier today."
"What? When exactly?"
"Based on my calculations, between ten and midnight."
Charles' face darkened, his brows furrowing.
"Didn't you say blizzards aren't usually this bad this time of year?"
"Normally, yes. But this year's weather in Antarctica has been unusually volatile. Even meteorologists can't predict climate changes with total certainty."
Charles was speechless.
"Damn it! Looks like we'll have to stay at Aurora Station tonight. How long will the blizzard last?"
"I can't say for sure, but summer blizzards in Antarctica are usually short-lived."
Even so, Charles wasn't willing to take the risk. Driving at night was dangerous enough, let alone in a blizzard. If the Conqueror broke down, it'd be left in the wilderness—no one was coming to tow it. The loss would be devastating.
Around 7:30 p.m., the three expedition vehicles reached their destination, half an hour ahead of schedule.
Since it was early summer in Antarctica, daylight lasted long. Even at 7:30 p.m., it was still bright out. The sun wouldn't start setting until around ten.
"Strange, why isn't Aurora Station responding to us?"
As they approached, the Conqueror sent a radio message, but there was no reply.
Charles peered at the station. In the vast white snowfield, a lonely cluster of buildings stood. With the noise of their massive vehicles, it was odd that no one came out to greet them.
"Roy, should we go check it out?"
Something felt off to Charles, so he suggested he and Roy investigate.
Roy was about to agree when a bearded man emerged from the station, signaling toward the Conqueror.
Relieved, Charles exhaled.
"Man, I thought something was wrong with the station!"
He stepped out of the vehicle and walked toward Aurora Station.
"Hey! Why didn't you respond to our radio?"
"Radio? Oh, uh, someone must've slacked off again!"
At a remote place like Aurora Station, where visitors were rare, the communications team had little to do, so occasional oversights weren't surprising.
"Then why didn't anyone come out? I was worried something happened."
"It was mealtime. No one wanted to step out."
Fair enough, Charles thought, dropping the issue.
"Hi, I'm Charles Weyland. I arranged to meet Mike Reddy. Where is he?"
"He's still eating. I'll take you to him."
Only Charles, Roy, and Heather entered the station, leaving the rest of the team in the vehicles. Penny stayed behind as a precaution—she was more than capable of handling everyone on the expedition team if needed.
Inside, they found a group eating in the mess hall.
Mike Reddy lit up when he saw Charles—his cash cow had arrived.
"Mr. Weyland, so great to see you!"
But Charles wasn't in the mood for pleasantries. He grabbed Mike by the collar.
"Did you sell the info to someone else? We had a deal—exclusive to me!"
"Mr. Weyland, it's not necessarily me. Others at the station know the coordinates too," Mike said with a sly grin, unfazed. He still held the coordinates, so he wasn't worried about Charles turning on him.
Charles was certain Mike had sold the info to others, but with Mike's smug attitude, there was no way to settle the score.
Frustrated, Charles relented.
"Give me the coordinates."
"Where's the money?"
"Already wired to your account. Here's the proof."
Charles handed over a Swiss bank transfer receipt. Mike scrutinized it for ages before pocketing it, then shamelessly said, "I trust your reputation, Mr. Weyland."
Roy rolled his eyes. If you trusted him, why'd you check the receipt for so long?
Mike handed Charles a USB drive.
"The coordinates are in here, but it's a large area. You'll need to do some searching."
Charles locked eyes with Mike.
"Before me, did anyone else pass through this station?"
Mike gave a sheepish smile.
"Sorry, Mr. Weyland, I can't say."
That meant someone had been through—and likely paid for his silence.
Charles stormed off, fuming. Mike called after him, "Looking forward to working together again, Mr. Weyland!"
"Work together, my ass!"
As they left the mess hall, they heard barking. The station's dogs seemed agitated.
Inland Antarctic stations often relied on sled dogs for transport since supplies were scarce, and vehicles weren't always practical. Plus, sled dogs had a knack for not getting lost.
As they puzzled over the noise, a blood-soaked Alaskan Malamute charged at them, looking ready to bite.
Roy swiftly drew his Smith & Wesson M500 and fired. The .50 Magnum round obliterated the dog's head.
A station worker rushed out, apologizing.
"Sorry, sorry! I don't know why, but the dogs in the kennel have gone crazy, biting everything. Some visitors earlier today got bitten too."
Before Charles or Roy could respond, someone sprinted from the Conqueror toward them.
"How could you kill an innocent life like that?!"
Roy turned, unsurprised to see Lex Wood, the source of the dramatic outburst.
"What are you getting at?"
"You could've caught the dog and treated it! Why'd you shoot it?"
Lex was livid, acting as if the dog were her kin.
Roy looked at her like she was nuts.
"Are you an animal rights activist or something?"
Lex glared.
"That's right. I'm not just an animal rights activist—I'm an environmentalist too!"
Oh, great, Roy thought. Black, female, animal rights, environmentalist—she's stacking every buff short of being transgender and gay.
Heather jumped in to defend Roy.
"Didn't you see that dog was about to attack us?"
"It was probably just stressed! You could've caught it instead of killing it!"
Roy rolled his eyes again and patted Heather's shoulder. "Drop it. No point arguing with someone this far gone. They only see their own logic."
Charles nodded. "Roy's right, Ms. Wood. Get back to the vehicle."
Lex opened her mouth to protest, but then the dead dog's skin suddenly split open.
The kennel manager, standing guard over the body, was splattered with blood.
Roy reacted quickly, pulling Charles and Heather back to avoid the spray. Lex wasn't so lucky—several drops landed in her open mouth.
Well, I guess she got to "taste" her good friend, Roy thought dryly. Dogs are man's best friend, right? No issue there.
"What the hell is this?!"
As the kennel manager stood in shock, pink tendrils erupted from the dog's shattered neck, wrapping around him.
The dog's belly split open into a gaping maw, as if it meant to swallow the man whole.
"Help! Somebody help!"
The sight stunned everyone. Roy drew his M500 again, firing several shots into the dog's body.
But while his first shot had blown its head off, these rounds only left small holes, as if the dog had evolved in mere minutes.
Those pink tendrils, that bizarre evolution—it felt eerily familiar.
The kennel manager was done for; the tendrils had already pierced his body. Roy pulled a Molotov cocktail from his inventory and tossed it, incinerating both the mutated dog and the manager.
"What just happened?"
Adapted from the 1982 sci-fi classic The Thing. The original film is a must-watch for fans—highly recommended!