"Snowball"
The howling winds of Hoth cut through the frozen landscape like a serrated blade, whipping up loose snow into swirling eddies that reduced visibility to nearly nothing. Kallan Derk moved steadily through the icy wasteland, his white Cold-Assault Sith Legionnaire armor blending seamlessly with the environment. Though the thermal regulators in his suit kept the worst of the chill at bay, he could still feel the oppressive cold seeping in through the gaps in his armor, a reminder of why few survived long in this place without proper gear.
His boots crunched against the ice-crusted snow as he advanced through the patrol route assigned to his unit. The sound was barely audible over the wind, but to him, it was reassuring—a sign that he was still in control, still moving forward. Hoth had been deemed a low-risk posting, a frozen wasteland too barren to be of interest to most factions. But Derk knew better. Every warzone started with someone underestimating it.
He tapped the side of his helmet, activating his visor's augmented reality display. A map of the surrounding area flickered to life, revealing the outlines of jagged ice cliffs, buried wreckage from forgotten battles, and the faint thermal signatures of his squadmates, spread out in a loose formation. The patrol was routine, a necessary but monotonous task meant to maintain Sith control over the region.
"Anything on your end?" a voice crackled over the comm. It was Legionnaire Torrik, his patrol partner.
"Negative," Kallan replied, his voice measured. "Just ice and more ice. No movement, no heat signatures beyond our own. You?"
"Same. This place is a damn graveyard." Torrik exhaled sharply over the channel, the sound slightly distorted by his helmet's speakers. "Still, wouldn't mind a little action to keep the blood flowing. These patrols are getting dull."
Kallan didn't respond immediately. He knew better than to wish for trouble. Boredom was preferable to an enemy ambush, especially in a place as unforgiving as Hoth. But something gnawed at the back of his mind, a subtle unease he couldn't quite place.
His HUD flickered—just for a second. A faint blip on his motion scanner, gone before he could pinpoint it.
He halted, raising a clenched fist in signal. "Hold position," he ordered.
Torrik's voice sharpened. "You see something?"
"Not sure. My scanner picked up something—could be a glitch, could be movement." Kallan crouched low, angling his blaster rifle toward the direction of the disturbance. "Let's proceed with caution. Close formation."
As Torrik closed in, Kallan's visor display recalibrated, scanning the environment with an active ping. A second later, the blip returned—this time stronger. And it wasn't alone.
Something was out there. And it was moving toward them.
