(The sound of the helicopter blades cutting through the icy winds. A storm rages outside, the
sky dark and heavy. Inside the chopper, a team of hardened soldiers sits, strapped in, weapons ready.
Captain J.F. Blake stands at the front, gripping the overhead rail as he delivers the mission briefing.)
Blake:
Listen up, team. Command’s lost all contact with U.S. Outpost #31. No radio, no distress
signal—nothing. Last transmission was over 48 hours ago. Our job is simple: establish contact, secure
survivors, and figure out what the hell happened out there.
North:
Sir… if they’re calling us, something must’ve gone real bad.
Blake:
That’s my concern exactly. And it gets worse. Another research station, about six miles
north, also went dark. No word, no warning.
Burrows:
Could be a communications failure. This storm’s strong enough to knock out radio towers.
Blake:
Maybe. But we don’t take chances. Command wants answers, and we’re the ones bringing ‘em.
Weldon: (checking his rifle)
Sir… if we do find someone… what are we expecting? Hostiles? Survivors?
Blake:
We assume nothing. We go in armed, we go in careful. Priority is survivors, but if we
encounter anything hostile… we put it down. No hesitation.
(The chopper jolts slightly as it begins descent. The flashing warning lights inside flicker
against the soldiers’ tense faces.)
Pilot (over radio):
ETA two minutes. Wind’s getting rough. Gonna have to set you down a little further from
the outpost.
Blake:
Copy that. Gear up, people. We hit the ground running. Stay sharp, stay close. No
mistakes. No loose ends.
(The team checks their weapons, securing their gear. The tension is thick. Outside, the
snowstorm howls.
CAM2
In the storm, a dark figure stands motionless—watching. The helicopter descends, its searchlight
slicing
through the
swirling white. Then—The figure is gone.
As the chopper
touches
down, the doors slide open, revealing the dark, frozen remains of
Outpost #31. The mission begins…)