The drop ship dusted down with a hard thud, half buried in the deep snow of Eurydice's surface.

Trey immediately headed towards the open cockpit, ignoring the few men that remained who wearily began to strap on their gear.

Through the hardened cockpit windows, he could clearly make out the refinery, A black hulking shape in contrast of the surrounding

whiteness. Okay, listen up. Denny's addressed his men. I know we're in ragged shape. Enemy's unknown.

We still have a job to do. We're heading inside. Objective, find Marcus Drake dead or alive.

We need confirmation, or at the very least a body.

There's no point in lying or trying to whitewash the situation.

If we return to Earth empty-handed, be wiser not to return at all.

The men grumbled their agreement.

Okay, Dennings barked, bidding the switch to release the ramp.

A blast of frigid air dancing amongst the huddled men.

Let's move out.

You, he called over to Troy.

Stick close to me. It's for my second in command now.

Treyden, who would rather have been torn apart by wild dogs,

than be under Dennings'

command, didn't argue, but only nodded solemnly.

As far as he was concerned, this was nothing more than a suicide mission.

The parasite was bad enough, but whatever had carried off those injured men in the storm

and been silent, deadly, and unbelievably fast.

Not to mention the Drake Corp executives. Their bodies shredded and torn to pieces. What kind of

beast could have done such a thing? Whatever manner of creature haunted this white hell,

...