The Frigid Wastes Pt. 01

The Arctic is hardly a forgiving place; with year-round sub-zero temperatures, fracturing ice floes, and a few vicious predators, few humans have ever gone there. The cold can kill an unprotected human in less than an hour, and if said human fell in frigid water, he'd die in half that time. Many explorers have perished in an attempt to explore the frozen wastes, and whole teams have gone missing in the ice and snow. It was a place never meant for humans... but that wasn't going to stop Mark Haumann.

With a specially outfitted Jeep, a set of heavy winter gear, and a specially crafted drone, he was out to get some premium photos of the Arctic. A hired boat had dropped him off on the ice about a day ago, and he'd been taking pictures of everything: glaciers, snow dunes, ice caves, just about anything that looked pretty. After a few hours of going all-out, it finally started to get dark, and he swiftly retreated back to his Jeep with equipment in tow. The vehicle was big enough to serve as a home base, with the back seats removed to make room for a living area of sorts. Mark got all the pictures transferred to his hard drive, had a meal of canned peaches and jerky, then bunkered down for the night in a cushy sleeping bag. He loved coming out here, and when he slept, he dreamed of tomorrow's trek through the snow.

He awoke to the dim light of dawn shining through the windows, and after taking a second to stretch himself awake, he got up and started brewing a pot of coffee. In the meantime, he looked through all the photos he'd taken the previous day. Most were lame, especially the ones he'd gotten on foot, but there were some great shots from his drone that he moved to a folder of favorites. Once the coffee was finished, he played a quick game of chess with the computer; the machine always won, but he often measured himself based on how far he'd gotten.

Eventually, he got his heavy winter gear back on, left the cozy safety of the Jeep, and stepped out into the cold. Shards of frost clawed at his face as soon as he opened the door, and he was about to pull up his scarf when he noticed something in the snow. Upon closer inspection, it looked to be some kind of footprint, pressed deep into the snow by something big and heavy. The foot that made it was long and wide, with five clawed toes that looked like they could do some severe damage up close. Mark quickly recognized them as polar bear tracks, and fear quickly sprung up in his mind, suppressing the fact that there were no forepaw tracks. He thought about getting the twelve-gauge shotgun he kept by his sleeping bag for just such an occasion, but his rational mind quickly dismissed the idea; whatever bear had made these tracks was probably long gone, and he thought any person with a working set of legs could easily outpace a chunky, lumbering polar bear.

Without any more hesitation, Mark made his way back to the trunk and popped it open. From it, he hauled out the big, boxy case that his drone came in, then closed the trunk so as not to lose heat. It took him a full five minutes to get the drone prepped; everything had to get checked: the rotors, the battery, the camera gimbal, the memory drive, the antenna, the internal heating system, even the landing gear. He wasn't about to lose over three thousand dollars of drone because of a loose rotor or something. Once the drone was out on the snow, he flicked the controller on, stuck on his tablet, and went through his little start-up ritual: sticks down, test the camera, throttle up, test the rotors, and... liftoff!

Mark had the drone circle around once before heading out, checked again to make sure everything was in working order, then flew off toward a little cave he'd spotted. Along the way, he got some decent pictures, standard landscape stuff that he could sell as stock photos. Maybe he'd catch a glimpse of the polar bear who'd been by this jeep, he thought; he might be close, especially if this was in his territory. In his territory... maybe he should move the Jeep, find somewhere without an apex predator lurking about... nah, he already had the drone in the air, and he could quickly get to his gun. Something as massive as a bear would surely be easy to hear coming, he thought, so there was no way one could sneak up behind him.

As he turned his attention back to the drone's camera feed, he noticed something that was far more interesting than what he'd been expecting to find: a sort of idol made from what he assumed were seal bones. It had two significant shapes to it, an S with a really short bottom end and a right angle for a bottom curve, and a T with short arms. The symbols were crossed over one another and mounted on some kind of pole with crude leather straps; he quickly realized the pole in question was a huge icicle. Mark brought the drone down closer to it, and promptly saw there was something below the S and T. It seemed that something... or someone... had piled up the snow in a makeshift altar. On the altar were some scraps of meat, a few extra bones, and... a dagger. The meat had stained the snow red a bit, but was otherwise uninteresting; the dagger, however, was incredibly odd. When he zoomed in on it, he found it to be covered in symbols and carved patterns, seemingly done by a not-so-dexterous human. None of them were recognizable, except for one thing: a star cut into the very center of the blade. Well, either a star or a pentagram, he couldn't be sure. He took a bunch of pictures of the mysterious offering and the weird idol, all while wondering who the hell had set them up. Was there some race of super Eskimos up here that no one knew about?

It was then that he noticed something else, right in front of the altar: a big tangle of tracks. When he looked closer, he saw they led off in a bunch of different directions, and where they were dispersed he could see that they belonged to... polar bears? "What the hell..." Okay, he thought, so if polar bears came through here, were they looking to take the meat from the offerings? Maybe... but the meat looked old, and whatever bear came by his Jeep should have easily been able to find it. Plus, there weren't any human tracks, so either whoever put it here took the effort to cover their tracks, or... the polar bears left the offering.

Jesus, Mark, he thought to himself, what the hell are you thinking? Polar bears don't even have thumbs, much less the brain capacity to worship stuff. Maybe there was some other explanation, something that... hang on. Something moved. He only caught the barest hint of motion, but something had moved. He began to pan the camera around to see what it might have been, but there was nothing, or at least that's what he thought before he saw something lying in the snow beside the altar. At first glance, it looked like some random chunk of rock, but as he zoomed in, he saw it looked sharpened. Not only had most of the edges been filed into blades, but that same star/pentagram symbol was engraved on the top. He took another picture, then began to turn the drone around to return to the Jeep. Something weird was going on, and he should probably go over the photos to make sure-

Mark's train of thought came to a screeching halt as the drone suddenly jerked to one side, then spun wildly as it flew toward the ground. It took less than a second for it to crash into the snow, and it took a few seconds more for him to realize what had happened. "What the hell? What just-" He looked down to see his controller's warning lights flashing an angry red: one of the rotors had suffered a serious impact, causing the rest of the drone to go tumbling down. "Goddamnit!" Now he'd have to go all the way out there to get the drone, then haul it back in the frigid cold. The thing wasn't that heavy, thank god, but he didn't look forward to hiking through the heavy snow. As he set down the controller, he realized there was at least one piece of good news: the rotor was the only part damaged, so all he had to do was slap on a spare, and he'd be good to go.

The case took all of thirty seconds to pack back up, and then it was off to get his drone. It wasn't that far, he thought, just a short hike over a few snow dunes and he'd be right at the altar. Plus, now that he'd be there in person, he could grab that weird dagger and take a closer look at it. Who knows, he thought, maybe some museum would give him a few hundred bucks for it. Then perhaps he could know if anyone had heard of people in the Arctic, and if they hadn't, he could get famous for the discovery! He'd meet some professors, say a speech, get a share of a museum, and maybe even write a book. That'd be nice, he always wanted to write a book...

It was about halfway through his trip that Mark stopped daydreaming and started noticing the bear tracks he was unintentionally following that led back toward the altar. The thought of going back to get his gun flashed through his mind, but it was swiftly quelled by the notion that a bear wouldn't be all that hard to escape. From what he'd seen on tv, they were lumbering brutes, and a former cross-country runner like him could easily avoid them.

With confidence in his abilities, he pressed on to the altar and finally laid eyes on his crashed drone. Sure enough, one of the front rotors was smashed to splinters and something small lay in the snow a few feet away. As he got closer, he saw it was another weird sharpened rock, with the star symbol and everything. A few more feet from that was the altar itself in all its weird-ass glory. Mark first tended to the drone, picking up the shattered pieces of the propeller and stuffing them in his pocket. He did the same with the little bit still attached to the motor and was about to pick up the drone and leave when he laid eyes on the bone dagger. It looked even weirder up close, like something you'd see a Cthulhu cultist with, and thoughts about who'd made it began to swirl through his mind.

After a brief internal debate, Mark decided the drone could keep for a few minutes and paced over to the altar. Once he got within a few feet, he noticed that the meat had a very distinctive smell: it was almost... herbal, like it had been treated with something strong-smelling. He did his best to ignore the fact that the meat looked a bit torn up and carefully picked up the dagger, using two gloved hands to hold it up for inspection. It took a second to realize it, but there were a few symbols... no, letters, that he recognized. There was an A, a B, an upside-down N... about a fourth of the characters seemed to be English, but none of them formed any kind of coherent words. What the hell did they mean?

"Tomu kto zhenilsya na cheloveke, budet dana vechnaya udacha."

He whirled around, looking for the source of the ghostly words. He'd only half heard them, and he couldn't be sure it wasn't just a trick of the Arctic winds, but he thought he'd heard deliberate syllables. It sounded like vaguely-slavic gibberish to him... maybe Russian? "Hello?" he worriedly called out, "Is anyone there?" Nothing answered. Despite all his warm clothing, Mark started to feel cold, like frigid water had trickled into his body. Something wasn't right... and he wasn't going to find out what. He swiftly collected the knife, the sharpened rocks, and his drone before hurrying back toward his Jeep.

There were eyes on him, he could feel it. Something was watching him, but no matter how many times he whirled around he never saw his pursuer. The crunching of the snow and the howling of the wind masked whatever noises it might be making, fueling his paranoia, making him think whatever it was was right behind him whenever he wasn't looking. Was it after him, he thought? Did he trespass on something's territory? Did it want the dagger back? Was it just feeling hungry? A tiny sliver of his mind declared it was a polar bear, but the rest of him quickly ignored it. Maybe it was just nerves, and he was whipping himself into a panic over nothing. Regardless, he finally spotted the stark black paint of his Jeep against the snow, and in a fit of desperation, he broke into as much of a sprint as his snow pants and boots would allow.

About thirty seconds later, Mark finally made it to the perceived safety of his vehicle. He swung open the trunk, grabbed the drone case, hastily stuffed his prized equipment inside, slammed the lid shut, and put it back in the Jeep in record time. A slight feeling of relief washed over him, but it only lasted for a moment; he turned to move toward the backseat door, then froze as his eyes spotted something in the snow. His heart immediately caught in his throat, and his reasoning mind was quickly taken over by fight-or-flight instinct.

The thing was big, white, and furry, standing over six feet tall with quite a bit of muscle. The rounded ears and black nose took a second to register, but when they did, he knew fighting bare-handed was suicidal; polar bears might be slow and stupid, but he'd have no chance toe to toe. Plus, this one was standing up straight... possibly a sign of aggression? Well, he couldn't be sure it had actually seen him, so maybe, if he moved slowly, he could-

"Idi syuda, chelovek. Vy volshebnik kotoryy komanduyet demonom?"

Shit, it definitely saw him. And it talked. The bear... just... talked. It shifted something from one hand to the other, and Mark quickly realized the bear was armed with what looked like some kind of scrap-metal greatsword. He swiftly considered his own armaments, and seeing as that sword could easily cut him in half, he decided the shotgun by his bedroll was his best chance. Without making any sudden movements, Mark began creeping toward the door that wasn't facing the bear. The creature was staring at him curiously, and as he returned the glance he saw that it... kind of looked like a she. Sure, she was incredibly buff, but she also had wide hips, thick thighs, and... tits. Big ones. She was wearing clothes, too, a hide bra and skirt that were clumsily stitched together. They covered her nipples and crotch, but other than that her hide was utterly exposed. Adorning her cleavage and arms were jewelry carved from bone, and at her hip rested what kind of looked like a knife sheath. What the hell was this thing?

He finally slipped out of view of the bear and feverishly rushed to the door. "Pochemu ty boish'sya?" she called, but he was too busy swinging the door open to listen. Where was the gun, where was the gun... aha! His fingers finally closed around the rubber grip, and he took a second to pump a round into the chamber. Then came the folding stock, and then the safety, and... hang on, did he just flick it on or off? It took him a few seconds more to figure out that he had, in fact, turned the safety off, and he was just about to get out and exercise his second amendment rights when a voice sounded behind him. "Ya prichels podarkami!"

Mark whirled barrel-first toward the gruff female voice and found himself face to face with the bear. He was just inside the Jeep while she was right outside the door, putting him within easy grabbing distance and putting her at point-blank range. Despite this, she was smirking at him like nothing was wrong, and the gun leveled at her head only got a devious glance. Mark didn't know what to do; should he shoot the bear in the head, should he just relax, or should he keep her at gunpoint? The more he looked at her up close, the more she looked human; part of him simply refused to shoot another sentient being, part of him thought he should try reasoning with her, and part of him still thought she'd rip his throat out at the first opportunity.

The bear could see his hesitation as clear as day and let out an evil laugh. "Ty ne volshebnik," she chuckled, "Chto oznachet, chto vi vse moi!" Before he could react, she lunged forward and grabbed the shotgun by the barrel, pointing it up and away from her as Mark instinctively pulled the trigger. The thunderous bang of buckshot breaking the sound barrier filled the air as the shotgun bucked halfway out of Mark's hands and the pellets whizzed past the bear's head. Without a second's hesitation, she ripped the gun from his grasp and chucked it out into the snow, leaving her oversized sword behind as she clambered into the Jeep.

Mark scrambled backward toward his sleeping bag, thinking of nothing but getting away from the furry beast. Once he was curled up in the corner, he looked up in surprise to see the bear close the door behind her. Maybe she wasn't a barbarian after all, he thought, right up until she ripped off the door handle like it was nothing. When she turned back to him, he saw a strange glint in her light brown eyes, almost like she was staring down a pallet of gold bars... or a big Christmas dinner. She wanted something, that much he knew, but he wasn't sure what it was or how much it'd hurt if she got it.

As the massive bear started to crawl toward him, he curled even tighter into a ball. The bear seemed amused by this, chuckling slightly as her face split into a grin. "Ne volnuysya, malen'kiy krolik," she murmured, "Ya ne sdelayu tebe bol'no. Ya prosto khochu poveselit'sya, voti vse." Her smile almost seemed playful, Mark thought, although she might just find disemboweling and eating hapless photographers incredibly fun. She then stopped for a moment, seeming to think about her next course of action. "Hrmm... kak naschet demonstratsii?"

Mark only watched as she reached both paws behind her back, wondering what she was doing. Did she have a knife back there? Was she scratching an itch? Was she... she was taking off her bra. The skimpy strip of hide easily came off, and Mark was left staring at two big, round, soft-looking breasts with little black nipples poking out of thick fur. They were just so big and juicy... they were the kind of tits you'd just want to bury your face in. It didn't help that she started playing with them, rubbing her big paws over them, lifting, squishing, and teasing to put on a show. A tiny spark of arousal stirred in Mark's mind, but right then it was overcome by fear.

The huge intruder seemed disappointed at his lack of reaction. "Vse yeshche napugan, krolik? Ya dumayu, mne pridetsya sdelat eto samomu..." She then began crawling towards him slowly, trying her best not to spook him. Mark took a quick glance toward the unbroken door; maybe if he was fast enough, he could make it and get the door open. He didn't know what he'd do once he was outside the Jeep though... where would he go, out into the desolate ice and snow?

The polar bear was only a foot away from him, and as she reached out her paw he decided he'd see what she wanted; he was locked in here with her anyway, so he might as well save himself some pain by not fighting back. Her massive paw eventually found the cuff of his boot, and to his surprise, she began clumsily untying the laces. Her long claws made short work of the knots, and one after the other she slipped off his boots before tossing them in the corner. Then came off his socks, and then... she just paused, staring deep into his eyes. She looked excited, with a bright gleam and a playful grin, like they were about to do something fun. Well, fun for her, at the very least. The polar bear then did something he didn't expect at all: she slipped one paw in between his legs, grabbing him by the crotch of his pants and pulling him closer. There was less than half a foot between them, and Mark got the feeling of being uncomfortable... and intimate. He could feel the big bear fiddling with the front of his pants, and quickly realized she was trying to take them off. Somehow, the thought of being naked from the waist down around a bear didn't seem like a good idea, and given how the bear had relaxed a bit, maybe he could get to the door or steering wheel. He just had to wait a tad longer, wait for her to look away, and-