Part 1: "A Mission"

At the world's end, upon the oldest, most merciless icefield, a blizzard blinds all onlookers.
Even the soldier's eagle eyes can make out nothing through the Antarctic storm, and so he turns back.
Sergeant White Gloves: Lieutenant, how much time do we have?
Scribbles on paper resonate amid the whipping snow.
Moldir: 27 hours.
Moldir: Andrea's team traveled light to cover more ground. They will have minimal supplies.
Moldir: Factoring in exposure, terrain, and unconfirmed hostiles, Andrea's team has a golden window of 36 hours for rescue at best.
Moldir: It's been nine hours since they were expected back.
She finishes her calculations and shuts the notebook.
Moldir: Andrea is more than capable, but David ... He's still too young and raw for this.
Moldir: The admiral would never allow even a single child to be left behind.
Moldir: Three teams of three. That's all we can spare right now. Let's not waste another minute.
Moldir: Please assist me with the preparations, Sergeant.
Sergeant White Gloves: Yes, Lieutenant!
He glances outside. Pellets of blistering snow are still hammering the tent. Given enough time, they'll bury any trace of it.
Sergeant White Gloves: When do we move out?
Moldir: Factoring in the round-trip time for the rescue, we will have to leave within three hours.
Moldir: If the storm lets up in that window, we head out immediately.
Moldir also turns to look outside, eyes steady as she stares down her enemy. There is no strategy to defeat it; the only option is to withstand the onslaught.
Moldir: If the weather stays against us, we'll use these three hours to prepare and adjust our strategy.
Moldir: But in three hours, we move. No matter the circumstances.
Luck is on their side. 1 hour and 27 minutes later, their enemy at last relents.
The blizzard has stopped.
Moldir: You've got ten minutes to gear up. Stick to the assigned supply splits—no changes.
Soldier I: Yes, Lieutenant!
Moldir: Listen carefully. Whether or not we find Andrea's team, you follow your orders to the letter.
Moldir: No exceeding your assigned search time. No straying from your team's designated path.
Moldir: I will be waiting at the rendezvous point.
She scans her small force, her eyes sweeping over each soldier.
Moldir: Every single one of you.
20 hours after Andrea's team went missing.
Moldir: We can't go any farther. Turn back and head for the rendezvous point.
Soldier I: But Lieutenant, we haven't reached our target location yet.
Moldir: If weather conditions turn, we scale back. That was in the mission briefing. We all agreed.
Soldier II: Lieutenant, with respect, we can keep going!
She admits a slight grin, admiring the grit of her soldiers, but shakes her head.
Moldir: Stick to the plan. End of discussion. Turn back and head for the rendezvous point.
Soldier I: But ...
Moldir: Out here, with supplies split across the team, breaking protocol puts lives at risk. That is not a gamble I'll allow.
Her tone sharpens, each word carrying weight.
Moldir: Follow your orders, soldier.
Soldier I: Yes, Lieutenant!
Moldir surveys the deepening snow once again, then leads the team back.
Her face is cold and still, but the Antarctic wind steals a quiet, frost-white sigh.

All nine expedition members regroup at the rendezvous point and swiftly begin setting up their temporary outpost.
Moldir: Yes. Understood.
Moldir: Yes.
Moldir: I will continue the search, so long as it doesn't cost us any more lives.
Moldir: Yes, sir.
She ends the call with High Command and lowers the radio hesitantly. A small gesture signals to the sergeant that he can begin his report.
Sergeant White Gloves: According to the original briefing, we are to rest here for six hours, then begin our search operation again radially from this location.
Sergeant White Gloves: Lieutenant, speaking freely, that seems too long. Aren't we running out of time?
Moldir checks her watch.
Moldir: If we keep going without rest, we'll put our teams at risk. We cannot afford more casualties.
Sergeant White Gloves: It's been 24 hours since they went dark, Lieutenant.
Sergeant White Gloves: Our rescue window is dwindling. How much time does that leave them?
Moldir's lashes flicker.
Moldir: If we rest the full six? 42.
Moldir: The outer limit for survival in these conditions is 72 hours, Sergeant.
Moldir: That team is like forged steel. Andrea will keep them safe. I believe in them.
Sergeant White Gloves: Then I believe in them too, Lieutenant.
Moldir: Good. Get something to eat and rest up while you can, Sergeant.
Sergeant White Gloves: Yes, Lieutenant.
Moldir: I'll double-check tomorrow's route and timing. If conditions allow, we'll widen the search range as far as we can.
Sergeant White Gloves: Understood.
Sergeant White Gloves: Try to rest too, Lieutenant.
Moldir: Thank you for your concern, Sergeant. I won't go against the protocols I set myself.
It has now been 25 hours since Andrea's team went missing.
An hour has passed, and Moldir still hasn't slept.
The military map spread across a wooden crate bears layers of markings. In front of each hand-drawn arrow is a looming dark hand.
Moldir: ...
Moldir: We need full coverage, but we can't afford a direct clash with them.
Moldir: This is a crucial phase in the admiral's negotiations ...
She falls into a long silence and drifts her hand toward a photo. David, in his Zeno Corps uniform, grins brightly, looking in every way like a fresh-faced cadet.
Just beneath her fingertip, a sliver of orange peeks out from the photo's edge. Her eyes fix on it.
She flips the photo over and slips it back into the safest place she can think of.
A sharp sound pulls her attention.
Moldir: Who's there?!
Before her eyes, something swells outward from a quiet stretch of snow.
???: Ah! Ow!
Penguins: Wawk, wawk—
???: Ugh, my noggin's hurtin' somethin' fierce. Hey, pals, where are we?
Moldir blinks incredulously.
Three penguins. Adélie penguins—natives of Antarctica. And standing in front of them, returning her stare with a cautious look—
Moldir: A squirrel?