chapter 2 : The Arctic.
1138 Words
After getting out of the ship, and now looking at the iceberg in person, Victor felt sick "why is it so huge?"
Michael's eyes were about to falls out of his skull "so biiiig and beautiful !" the three men standing next to him decide to ignore whatever is happening.
David commented "it's certainly easy to underestimate something when you only see a report on paper" he was also in shock.
Samuel just nodded his head, contemplating something.
after a couple minutes and being chewed Away by the cold, the men finally gathered themselves and entered the warm base.
it wasn't anything fancy but it was something at least, they were here to gather info make a report and go back, it's not a vacation.
they were showed their rooms and told to get a little bit of rest until tomorrow when the mission will actually start.
Victor sat on the edge of his cot, unzipping his parka with stiff fingers. The room was barely warmer than outside. He stared at the floor for a long moment, jaw clenched, then muttered, “It’s not natural. That formation... it’s too clean. Too symmetrical.”
Across from him, Michael flopped onto his own cot like he was trying to merge with it. “Yeah, but come on, Vic. Did you see that thing? It’s like the Titanic of icebergs—massive, majestic, mysterious. It's a mathematical masterpiece.”
Victor didn’t respond. He was already pulling out his laptop, eyes sharp despite the fatigue.
Next door, David was unpacking slowly, glancing every now and then at the frost-laced window. “I’ve seen ice cliffs calve off in Greenland. But this...” he trailed off, then smiled faintly. “Hell, maybe it is aliens.”
Samuel chuckled from his bed. “You wish. If it’s aliens, I call dibs on the tissue samples.”
The base creaked as the wind picked up outside, pressing against the walls like a living thing. It groaned low and long, and for a second, all four of them paused. Listening.
Victor finally stood, snapping his laptop shut. “Alright. Get some rest. We hit the sample trenches at 07:00. I want core readings and density maps before we even think about diving into that anomaly.”
“You’re no fun,” Michael mumbled, pulling his blanket over his head.
Victor didn’t answer. He stood at the door a second longer, looking back toward the iceberg through the frost-covered glass. Its shape was barely visible in the dark—tall, jagged, yet strangely smooth near the base, like it had been cut instead of formed.
Something about it scratched at his mind like static.
He blinked once, slowly.
There was a shape. Deep in the ice. A line of curve—then gone.
He didn’t say a word. Just turned, and walked away.
The morning passed in a haze of breath clouds and frostbitten fingers. Though it was technically daytime, the Arctic sky remained an ashen smear overhead, offering no warmth and no sense of time. Everything moved slower here. Sound, light—thought.
Victor Hayes stood alone outside the base, arms crossed, eyes narrowed behind fogged glasses. The iceberg loomed in the near distance, its sheer height far more intimidating in person than on any satellite image. It looked like a frozen cathedral, a slab of history carved by a hand too old to name.
He checked the thermometer again. Still lower than expected.
“Morning, sunshine,” David’s voice broke the silence. He approached with slow, careful steps, holding a rolled-up paper and a thermos. “Still brooding?”
Victor didn’t answer. He took the offered thermos, unscrewed the lid, and took a small sip.
David watched the iceberg. “Temperature’s dropped again.”
“I know.”
“And... sound?”
Victor handed over a data printout without a word. David unrolled it, scanning the faint, delicate waves printed on the page.
“These are barely even readings,” he said. “Just pulses.”
“Once every thirty-two seconds,” Victor murmured.
David frowned. “Could be stress fractures. Internal shifts.”
Victor gave a small shake of his head. “Fractures don’t follow a rhythm. Not like this.”
David was quiet a moment. “A heartbeat?”
Victor didn’t reply. Instead, he pulled out the audio device he’d hidden in his jacket—just a small field recorder, patched together with spare parts. He pressed play, holding the speaker close between them. At first, only static. Then—
Thud.
Pause.
Thud.
Quiet, deep, and slow. A sound like something ancient pretending to be alive.
“It’s probably nothing,” Victor said, finally. “Mechanical noise. Base vibration. Something in the way the ice echoes.”
“Probably,” David agreed. But his expression didn’t look convinced.
Back inside, Michael was sprawled across a couch in the common room, fiddling with a tablet, humming to himself. His parka was half-off, a cup of hot cocoa steaming on the nearby table.
Samuel sat beside him, meticulously labeling a set of samples. “You know,” the biologist said, “there’s a theory that prehistoric ecosystems could get preserved in ice for tens of thousands of years. Microbes. Algae. Maybe even something more complex.”
Michael snorted. “Like a Jurassic Popsicle?”
“Don’t laugh. They found nematodes alive in Siberian permafrost.”
“Sure,” Michael said, grinning. “Next thing you’ll say is the ice has a soul.”
“Don’t tempt it,” David muttered, entering with Victor.
Michael sat up. “You guys get anything?”
“More of the same,” Victor answered, setting his gear down. “Temperature’s off. Readings are strange. We’ll run a few diagnostics tonight.”
“You heard the sound again,” Samuel said, more a statement than a question.
Victor gave him a look. “Still not calling it a ‘sound.’ Not officially.”
“But unofficially...?” Michael prompted.
“It’s a pulse. Nothing else.”
Michael leaned back with a dramatic sigh. “A giant frozen heart. Amazing. Romantic.”
David smirked. “Let me guess. You want to name it again.”
“Iceberg McColdboy.”
“No.”
“C’mon! He’s got a heartbeat now!”
Samuel shook his head, amused. “Maybe it’s just a school of fish frozen in formation.”
Victor didn’t answer. He pulled up the waveform again, staring at the rhythm. Faint. Cold. Distant. But steady.
“Whatever it is,” he said finally, “it’s waiting.”
The others fell silent for a moment, the quiet pressing in again.
Outside, the wind howled past the structure, scraping across the walls like claws made of ice. And somewhere far beneath the sea and the weight of time—
Thud.
- Writer
