The North Pole was not meant for people.
Even with insulated gear and military-grade heating systems woven into his suit, Rakeem felt the cold gnawing at him, seeping through layers of protection and settling into his bones. The air burned his lungs every time he inhaled, sharp and dry, as if nature itself was warning him that he did not belong here.
The jet had dropped them miles away from the target zone, a necessary precaution. Too close, and the sound signature alone might have alerted the creature. Too far, and exhaustion would become an enemy of its own. The Siblings had chosen the lesser of two evils.
Rakeem scanned the endless white expanse as the strike team regrouped, their dark silhouettes standing out sharply against the snow. He muttered a silent prayer, more out of habit than faith. If there was a God watching this place, He had abandoned it long ago.
They weren't here for exploration or scientific curiosity. Weeks of surveillance, intercepted transmissions, and satellite anomalies had led the Siblings to one chilling conclusion: an Igloo had gone off-grid. Isolated. Dormant. Or hiding.
That alone made it dangerous.
The organization he now worked for—the Siblings—still sounded ridiculous to him, like something pulled from a conspiracy forum. Yet nothing about them was imaginary. They were very real, very well-funded, and very willing to sacrifice lives if it meant getting results.
His mind drifted back to the moment everything had changed.
Dr. Rakeem Galleger had been sitting in his cluttered office, surrounded by years of rejected grant proposals and research papers the world had deemed too controversial, when the man arrived.
Mr. Richardson had introduced himself with a polite smile that never reached his eyes.
"We would like to fund your Igloo research," he had said calmly, as though offering a cup of coffee.
Rakeem had felt his pulse spike instantly.
"In return," Richardson continued, "every detail of information you uncover will belong to my employers. They will decide how it is used."
That condition alone had made Rakeem uneasy. His work was meant to protect humanity, not arm it. Power, once concentrated, had a habit of corrupting those who wielded it.
But then Richardson had added, almost casually, "This includes saving the planet."
It was the only reason Rakeem had listened further.
They knew the government had turned him down. They knew his credentials, his breakthroughs, and his desperation. They knew exactly where to apply pressure.
And so, after weeks of internal debate, Rakeem had agreed—on one condition: the results would not be weaponized against civilians.
Richardson had smiled again.
"Of course."
Now, standing at the edge of the world with a rifle he barely knew how to use, Rakeem wondered how naïve he had been.
The team moved in formation as they approached the suspected lair. Ice formations jutted from the ground like broken teeth, and the wind howled through narrow crevices, distorting sound and direction. It was the kind of terrain where something could be watching you without being seen.
What troubled Rakeem most was the contradiction.
Why would an Igloo—an entity believed to be actively hostile to humanity—choose isolation? This was not a strategic stronghold. There were no population centers, no infrastructure to exploit. Just ice, darkness, and silence.
They reached the perimeter.
Rakeem ran through the plan again in his head, hands trembling despite the thermal stabilizers in his gloves. He wasn't supposed to be here. He had argued that his value was intellectual, not tactical. The Siblings had agreed—technically.
Yet here he was.
Curiosity, he realized too late, had overridden fear.
The soldiers who were with him all carried several kinds of gear, some which he had never seen in his life. Some of this obviously well trained individuals even had body parts which had been replaced with machinery - prosthetic arms and legs, which gave them an edge over ordinary human beings.
Then the ground exploded.
The snow collapsed beneath them as if the earth itself had given way. Men screamed as they fell, weapons firing wildly. The ambush was instant and overwhelming.
The Igloo had known.
Rakeem barely registered the first casualties before the creature revealed itself.
It emerged from beneath the ice with terrifying grace, its form towering and unnatural, as though reality bent slightly around it. Bullets struck its body in rapid succession, sparks and ice fragments flying—but the creature barely reacted.
Despite its humanoid form, it's behavior was nothing like one. For one, it had no mouth and this only went a long way to make it look more deadly.
Within moments, soldiers were dying.
Not falling—dying.
Limbs were torn free with casual force. Bodies were flung through the air like debris. Blood sprayed across the snow, instantly freezing into grotesque red crystals.
The gunfire was deafening, useless.
Rakeem stood frozen, his mind refusing to process what his eyes were seeing. His bladder gave out before his courage did, warmth spreading briefly before the cold reclaimed it.
The Igloo turned toward him.
It walked—not rushed, not threatened—directly toward him.
Rakeem stumbled backward, panic finally breaking through the paralysis. He tripped, hit the ground hard, and scrambled away on his elbows, breath coming in ragged gasps.
The creature loomed over him.
A sudden burst of gunfire rang out.
A wounded soldier—female, judging by the voice Rakeem remembered from earlier—fired her last rounds in defiance. The Igloo paused.
Then it lifted its hand.
The soldier was ripped off the ground mid-shot, dragged through the air by an invisible force. Her weapon clattered uselessly onto the ice.
Suspended by the throat, she kicked helplessly as the Igloo tightened its grip.
It didn't look at her.
It stared at Rakeem.
"Spare us," Rakeem whispered, the words escaping him before he could stop them.
The cold, the fear, the death—it all collapsed into that single plea.
For a moment, nothing happened.
Then the Igloo released the pressure—just enough.
Rakeem felt himself lifted off the ground, the same unseen force wrapping around his body. Darkness closed in as he was carried alongside the barely-conscious soldier, dragged deep into the cavern beneath the ice.
The last thing he felt before losing consciousness was the horrifying realization that his captor had understood him.
And had chosen not to kill him.