Log 01: Arrival

█ TIMESTAMP: 11:03 Δ– FIRST DAY ON-SITE  
█ WEATHER: CLΞAR ‡ -18°C ‡ N0 WIND █
█ RECORDER: S.A.W █

I've arrived. No one met me at the pickup point. Not that I expected a welcome committee. The transport pilot didn't speak the whole flight except to say, "Don't leave the station after dark. Stay off the ice shelf."

When I asked why, he just tightened his gloves.

The landing strip was half-cleared—only just enough for the skids. I dragged my duffel to the edge of the berm and waited for the wind to stop howling. Then I followed the markers north toward the old outpost. It's exactly how I saw it in the site photos: low metal siding, ice-etched windows, antenna tower bent like it's trying to crawl back into the snow.

I found the key in the emergency cache box, just like the site notes said. The generator still works, somehow. There's power. Heat. Light.

But no one's been here in months, right? That's what the brief said.

But I found a bootprint in the snow. Still crisp at the edges. Size 10, maybe 11. Deep enough that it can't be more than... a few hours old.

And inside? One of the mugs in the galley had steam coming off it.

Maybe the previous tech got delayed leaving. Or maybe I've got a squatter.

I'll do a sweep of the main modules after I unpack.

Site B is two kilometers from here—old geomag station. I'll check it tomorrow. The station map says it's locked, but that's assuming the last person followed protocol.

No comms yet. Radio signal's fuzzy. Like there's interference. Or something's bouncing it back.

When I asked the base station for weather telemetry, the response I got was:
"Signal acknowledged. Please repeat identification."
I hadn't given it yet.

It asked again:
"Who are you?"

I'm logging this for myself. For later. Just in case.