Iced

The screen flickered off, leaving Ty with only the distant hum of the drones and the oppressive silence of the tundra. He glanced up, catching sight of a massive clock far above, the numbers blinking in bright red: 30:00. The countdown had begun.

The cold stung, biting into his skin and seeping into his bones. Ty forced himself up, taking a deep breath, watching it cloud in front of him. He surveyed the vast room, snow stretching endlessly, the only sound the crunch under his boots. A few scattered ice formations broke the otherwise flat landscape, their jagged edges catching the sparse light.

"Where are the others?" he wondered, looking around. He knew they had all fallen, but where they had landed was anyone's guess. The place felt massive—designed to make him feel small, insignificant, lost. He knew it was psychological—Heissman wanted them to feel hopeless, to believe there was no way out.