It’s a cold winter day on the Rim.

  I’m part of a raider faction. I’m not proud of it, but killing and pillaging is just part of this cruel world. Out here, morality freezes before you do.

  Our base is busy despite the cold. Kids run between half-frozen barracks. Guards patrol the outer walls with old rifles slung over heavy coats. In the center courtyard, our glorious leader, Ivanov, delivers one of his long, fire-filled speeches. something we need in these freezing times.

  It’s not much. Rusted sheet-metal walls. Sandbags. Smoke-stained generators.

  But it’s home.

  Just before winter, we launched a major raid against the Waster Pirates. Filthy creatures. They thrive in radiation and smog like insects in rot. We thought numbers would win.

  We were wrong.

  We lost good soldiers. Good weapons. Most of our spare food. Winter doesn’t forgive mistakes.

  The ground is frozen solid. Crops are dead. Foraging is a joke.

  I spot Matt jogging toward me through the snow, tail flicking behind him. He’s an Imp, red skin, horns, heat-resistant genes.. Somehow still complains about the cold.

  He saved my life more times than I can count.

  “Hey, Hugo!” he shouts, voice way too energetic for the temperature. “You missed the speech, dude!”

  “Yeah,” I mutter. “Was out foraging. We need the rations.”

  He grins. “Let me guess.. no luck? It’s snowing. You’re not finding berry bushes under half a meter of ice.”

  I sigh. Foraging’s almost pointless now. “We have to do something. What else can we possibly-”

  Matt suddenly grabs my sleeve and leans in close, lowering his voice like he’s about to share a secret.

  “That’s why you show up for Ivanov’s speeches,” he whispers, that dumb grin spreading across his face. “We spotted drop pods. Couple klicks east. Dumb glitterworlders.”

  My stomach tightens.

  Drop pods mean outsiders. Outsiders mean tech. Supplies. Or soldiers.

  “Scouts say at least three pods landed intact,” Matt continues. “Ivanov picked us to go rough ’em up.”

  Snow crunches under distant boots as guards shift positions along the wall. I look past Matt toward the gray horizon.

  Three pods.. in winter.. No one lands on the Rim by accident. And those who do are angry.. And deadly.

  “Armed?” I ask.

  “Has to be,” Matt shrugs. “But they’re fresh. Disoriented. Probably freezing already.”

  He’s excited. I’m not.

  Glitterworlders don’t just fall from the sky without reason. And if they have high-end gear…

  That means they’re valuable.

  “Gear up,” I say finally.

  Matt’s grin widens. “That’s my boy.”

  As we walk toward the armory, snow continues to fall, slow and silent.

  Somewhere out there, three strangers are digging themselves out of crash foam, blinking against the cold, thinking they survived.

  They have no idea where they landed. and no clue whats about to hit them.

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  We walked through the snow for days. It's cold. Not normal cold, no 'layer up and deal with it' cold.. Mind shatteringly cold. The kind that crawls under your skin and settles into your bones. The kind that makes you forget what warmth feels like. The Rim is always harsh, but this storm.. this is new.

  It's me, Matt and six recruits - all desperate to prove themselves to Ivanov. Desperate rookies die fast.

  Matt keeps up his chatting, must be nice.. those warmblooded genes. His impblood runs hotter then the rest of us.

  “Three pods,” he mutters through chattering teeth. “Maybe four if one drifted. You think they’re nobles? Glitterworld rich types?”

  “If they were nobles,” I say, adjusting the strap on my rifle, “they’d have escorts.”

  “Maybe the escorts didn’t make it.”

  “Maybe.” he grinned

  Behind us, the six recruits drag themselves through the snow. Formation sloppy. Steps uneven. The last one pulls a sled stacked with what little rations we have left. No one dares complain. Their lips are cracked white. Eyelashes frozen stiff. We aren't an army. Not after the Waster raid anyway. we're enough to scare off a group of farmers.. the only problem is..

  Glitterworlders aren't farmers.

  we marched for 4 days straight, on the second night, one recruit didn't wake up.

  On the third, two more collapse mid-step. We try dragging them, we really do.. But the freezing wind doesn't care about effort

  The fourth day, three recruits dead, they were brave, and they served. We dont say prayers, why would we? its not like the Rim listens.

  the remaining rookies all lost something, a finger, a toe, part of an ear, Frostbite slowly but surely kills.

  Matt and i are fine.. for now, anyway. Our rations are good as good, our stomachs claw at our insides, we dont complain.. Why would we? we're raiders, complaining doesn't fill stomachs.

  our morale is thin as paper, im convinced the rookies are about to break and then-

  *CLING*

  Matt stumbled forward, faceplanting into the snow

  "The hell-?"he mumbled- quickly getting up, kicking at the drift.

  Metal. We dig through the snow.. a Droppod. Half burried, dented, looted..

  i crouch beside it, brushing frost from the control panel. High end make, clean seals, that fancy glitterworld tech, no doubt.

  "Fresh..?" a young, shy recruit asks.

  i press my gloves against the metal, its cold, empty, has been for days.. but it's not ancient.

  "We're close," i state.

  Matt's tails wiggles a little "See? worth the walk."

  thats when i notice it, smoke, about a kilometer from us. its not grey, it's black. its going as we speak.

  "There-!"i yell, the rest looks towards the smoke like sheep.

  "You know what to do-" Matt says. "it's time for action."

  We drop the sled, and get into a tight formation, slowly walking towards the smoke, we're diciplined.

  "That fire's been going for a while.." i murmer to Matt.

  "You think they got supplies?" he asks.

  "if a fire's been going that long.. it's impossible that they dont.."

  we get closer and closer, and eventuly- we hear voices.. they aren't alert- and we cant make out what they're saying- we all ready our guns, trying to stay dead silent.

  One of the recruits speak up..

  "We should probably move i-"

  *BANG*

  a gunshot, so loud, none of us process what even happened, i look behind me and realise- one of the recruits head is wide open a big ol'hole in it, he's laying in the cold snow, his brain matter all over the pure white, tainting it a dark red.

  "COVERR-!" Matt yells, he jumps and pushes me behind a small rock, barely enough space for one of us. let alone two.

  "Rookies- you-!" i yell out, interuppted by a series of loud shots, i hear screams shortly being cut off. i hear bullets flying over us, i look back once again, one of the rookies gets pounded by a barrage of bullets, and the other is laying passed out in a pool of blood.

  "Fuck- shit- FUUCK-" Matt panics, he jumps and and bolts for a nearby taiga tree.

  TATATATATATA

  I see ateast 3 bullets piercing his tail, and four into his chest. a split second later, he collapses too, just behind the tree.

  "Matt-" i speak out- what the fuck is wrong with me? stop laying here-

  i get up, aim my gun and shoot, i dont know where, probably towards an enemy-I hope.

  i manage to get behind a tree, a single tear drips down my face. Matt- fuck-

  i gain the courage to peak and-

  "NGHH-" a giant in white power armor grabs me by the throat, and i instantly choke, before i realise what the hell is going on, he hold his rifle against my stomach and

  BANG

  i feel a sharp pang of pain before i pass out

  ||Fade to black||