The helicopter blades chopped through Arctic air as Outpost Polaris came into view through the cockpit window.
Dr. Alex Chen pressed a gloved hand against the cold glass, breath fogging it instantly. Below, the ice shelf stretched in every direction—a vast white void broken only by the dark cluster of modular buildings that made up the research station. The midnight sun hung perpetually on the horizon, casting everything in an eerie orange glow that made the landscape look alien, hostile.
"There," Marcus Webb's voice crackled through the headset. The ex-SAS operative sat across from Chen, his weathered face betraying no emotion as he pointed. "Landing zone. Still marked."
Emergency flares created pools of red light around the designated helicopter pad. They'd been burning for weeks, Chen realized. Someone had set them out and never came back to turn them off.
The pilot's voice cut through: "Visual confirmation—station appears intact. No personnel visible. I'm putting us down, but I'm not staying longer than it takes to unload. This place gives me the creeps."
Beside Chen, Dr. Nora Okafor leaned forward, her dark eyes scanning the station hungrily. "The drilling rig is still operational," she said, unable to hide the excitement in her voice. "You can see the bore hole platform from here."
"Da," Sergei Volkov rumbled from the back. The grizzled Russian engineer hadn't stopped frowning since they'd left Longyearbyen. "Everything looks normal. Too normal. No people, but everything working." He shook his head. "Wrong. All wrong."
The helicopter touched down in a swirl of snow and ice. Through the window, Chen could see supply crates near the entrance to the main hub—some covered in fresh snow, others torn open, their contents scattered. Dark stains streaked the ice between the crates and the station entrance.
The pilot didn't kill the engine. "Thirty seconds, people. Whatever you need, grab it fast."
Chen looked at the team. Marcus was already checking his equipment—rifle, sidearm, emergency flares, climbing gear. Nora clutched her sample case like it was precious cargo. Sergei had his massive toolkit and a coil of rope over his shoulder.
The station waited. Silent. The emergency lights flickered in the windows of the central dome.
Chen's training kicked in. First rule of crisis management: assess before you act. But they had seconds to decide.
The emergency medical kit and environmental sensors sat in one locker—if there was biological contamination, they needed to know immediately. In another locker, the portable communications relay and backup power cells waited. Restoring contact with the outside world could be the priority.
Chen's hand hovered between the two options, mind racing through contingencies and protocols.
Which choice would give them the best chance of survival?