American comics: I am full of martial virtues and I love to be kind to others.

“Understood,” Lynn said. “I will keep an open mind.”

“There’s one more thing,” Jason added, “communication facilities on the island are very limited; satellite phones are the main means of communication. Even satellite signals can be interrupted in bad weather. So you have to be self-sufficient and don’t expect to receive support at any time.”

Lynn realized the complexity of the mission. Not only would he have to work in an extreme environment, but he would also face unknown threats and have virtually no backup.

“I’ll be ready,” Lynn said.

After leaving Jason's office, Lynn immediately went to Sarah to explain the situation.

“Alaska? The Arctic Circle?” Sarah repeated. “That sounds cold.”

“It’s very cold,” Lynn said, “and it’s very remote. We need to get our gear ready.”

The following day, they were busy preparing. In addition to the usual FBI equipment—guns, body armor, and evidence-gathering tools—they also needed special polar gear. The FBI's logistics department provided heavy-duty cold-weather clothing, boots, sleeping bags, portable heaters, as well as emergency food and medical kits.

“It feels like we’re going on a polar expedition,” Sarah said as she packed her gear.

“In a way,” Lynn said. “St. Lawrence Island is already in winter in November, and the temperature can drop to minus twenty degrees Celsius. And if a blizzard comes, we could be stranded there for several days.”

“That sounds interesting,” Sarah said, her tone slightly sarcastic, but her eyes gleaming with excitement. She had always enjoyed challenging tasks.

At five o'clock the next morning, Lynn and Sarah met at the airport and boarded a flight to Anchorage. After a six-hour flight, they arrived in Alaska's largest city.

In Anchorage, they had a two-hour layover. Lynn used this time to contact the local FBI office and obtain more information about St. Lawrence Island.

“The situation on the island is more serious than the reports say,” said the liaison officer at the Anchorage branch. “There have been two more attacks in the past week. Locals are starting to talk about curses and evil spirits. Some people have already left the island.”

"What do the tribal leaders think?" Lynn asked.

“They are also worried, but at the same time, they are also skeptical,” the liaison officer said. “On the one hand, they hope the federal government can help solve the problem, and on the other hand, they worry that outsiders will disrupt the balance on the island or disrespect their culture.”

“We will be careful,” Lynn assured him.

From Anchorage to St. Lawrence Island, they needed to take a small, twin-engine plane. The plane could only hold six passengers, plus the pilot. When Lynn and Sarah boarded, they found there were other passengers—three people who appeared to be local Indigenous people, carrying a large amount of supplies.

The pilot was a white man in his fifties, his face weathered by time. He recognized Lynn and Sarah immediately upon seeing their equipment.

"You're here to investigate the federal agents who carried out those attacks, right?" he asked.

“Yes,” Lynn nodded, “how much do you know about those events?”

The pilot shrugged. "I fly this route twice a week and hear all sorts of stories. Some say polar bears, some say wolves, and some say...something else."

“Other things?” Sarah asked.

The pilot lowered his voice, “There are many ancient legends on the island. About creatures that roam the ice and snow, neither human nor beast. I’ve flown here for twenty years and seen many strange things. The Arctic is not a simple place, agents.”

The plane took off, heading northwest. Through the window, Lynn saw the scenery below gradually change from forest to tundra, then to snow-covered wasteland. The ocean came into view, with icebergs floating on its deep blue surface.

Two hours later, St. Lawrence Island appeared on the horizon. It was a long, narrow island, about ninety miles long and twenty-two miles wide, and looked desolate and isolated. There were almost no trees on the island, only low tundra vegetation, covered with thick snow.

“That’s Campbell village,” the pilot pointed to a small settlement at the eastern end of the island. “There are only two villages on the whole island, Campbell and Savoga. We’re landing in Campbell.”

The plane began its descent. Lynn could see the layout of the village—about a hundred houses, mostly simple wooden or metal structures, and a few larger buildings, likely schools, shops, and a community center. Next to the village was a makeshift gravel runway; that was the airport.

The plane landed with a bumpy thud, the tires screeching on the gravel runway. As the cabin door opened, a blast of biting cold air rushed in. Although Lynn had prepared himself, the chill still made him gasp. The thermometer read -15 degrees Celsius, and the wind chill made it feel even colder.

“Welcome to the end of the world,” the pilot said. “Good luck, agents.”

Two people stood beside the runway—one was a middle-aged Yupik man wearing a heavy sealskin coat, and the other was a young white man in a state trooper uniform.

Lynn and Sarah walked toward them, carrying heavy equipment.

“Agent Lynn Hall?” the state trooper said, extending his hand. “I’m Patrolman Tom Novick. This is John Appayak, chairman of the Campbell Village Tribal Council.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Lynn said, shaking hands. “This is my partner, Agent Sarah Wilson.”

John Appajak scrutinized Lynn and Sarah, his eyes filled with both expectation and suspicion. He was about fifty years old, his face etched with the marks of time, but his eyes were sharp and alert.

“Welcome to Campbell,” he said in heavily accented English. “We hope you can help us. The villagers are very afraid.”

“We will do our best,” Lynn said. “First, we need to understand the situation, check the scene of the attack, and interview the victims.”

“I’ve arranged accommodation,” John said. “There aren’t many guest rooms in the village, but there’s a small cabin you can use. Then we’ll go to the community center, where I’ve gathered some people, including victims and witnesses.”

They boarded a beat-up pickup truck—one of the few vehicles in the village—and headed towards it. The road was rough, just compacted snow. The village looked even more rudimentary than it appeared from the air. The houses were small, many looking dilapidated. But warm light shone from every window, and smoke billowed from every chimney.

“How long is winter here?” Sarah asked.

“From October to May,” John replied, “it can get as cold as minus forty degrees Celsius. And it’s mostly dark in winter; the sun only comes out for a few hours, sometimes not at all.”

How do people live?

“We are Yupik people, and our ancestors have lived here for thousands of years,” John said, his voice filled with pride. “We know how to survive in this environment. Fishing, seal hunting, hunting. It’s a tough life, but this is our home.”

The pickup truck stopped in front of a small hut. It was a single-story wooden building, looking slightly better than the other houses. "These are the village guest rooms," John said. "They were originally for teachers or doctors who came occasionally. Not luxurious, but warm."

Lynn and Sarah entered the cabin. It was indeed very basic—two small bedrooms, a simple kitchen, a small living room, and a bathroom. But there was heating, electricity, and hot water. Considering the remote location, it was quite nice.

“You have half an hour to get ready, then we’ll go to the community center,” John said. “It gets dark quickly, and we don’t want to waste time.”

Lynn looked out the window. Although it was only three in the afternoon, the sky was already beginning to darken. The sun hung low on the horizon, casting long shadows.

“Understood,” Lynn said.

After John and Tom left, Lynn and Sarah quickly packed their gear and changed into thicker clothes.

“This place is really remote,” Sarah said, checking the communication equipment. “There’s absolutely no cell phone signal; we can only rely on satellite phones.”

“And we’re truly isolated,” Lynn said. “If something goes wrong, the nearest support is in Anchorage, a flight that takes at least two hours, and it depends on the weather.”

“Then we’d better be careful,” Sarah said, checking her pistol. “Whatever is attacking a person, it’s obviously dangerous.”

Half an hour later, John and Tom returned to pick them up. The community center was a large building with a large hall inside, where about twenty people were gathered.

John introduced Lynn and Sarah to everyone in Yupik, then switched to English, "These two are FBI agents; they're here to help us investigate the attack. Please cooperate and tell them everything you know."

Lynn stood in front of the crowd, feeling everyone's gaze. Among those gazes were expectation, doubt, fear, and some distrust.

“I know you’ve been through terrible things,” Lynn began. “I assure you that my partner and I will do everything in our power to find out what’s attacking you and stop it. But I need your help. I need to know every detail, every single attack.”

Someone in the crowd said something in Yupik, and the others nodded in agreement. John translated, "They want to know, what do you believe this to be? A wild beast or something else?"

Lynn carefully chose her words, "It's not certain yet. But we'll remain open-minded and consider all possibilities."

“Some say this is Tunitak,” an old woman said, her voice trembling, “the spirit of the ice plains wandering in ancient legends.”

“Tell me more about Tunitak,” Lynn said, remembering Jason’s advice to respect local legends.

The old woman looked at John, who nodded, indicating that she could speak.

“The Thunitak is a creature from our ancient tales,” she began, “neither human nor beast, but something in between. Legend says it appears in the darkest, coldest times, hunting those who are alone in the world. It moves as fast as the wind, is as strong as a polar bear, but is as cunning as a human.”

“How old is this legend?” Sarah asked.

“For hundreds, maybe thousands of years,” John said, “but most of the time, it was just a story to warn children not to go out alone on winter nights. Until now.”

“These attacks haven’t started until now,” Lynn understood. “So, who was the first victim?”

A man in his thirties raised his hand. "It was me. Three months ago, in early September."

“Tell me what happened,” Lynn said, taking out his notebook.

“I was checking my fishing nets on the beach,” the man, named Peter, said. “It was around six in the evening, the sun was setting. Suddenly, I heard a noise behind me, like something moving on the snow. I turned around, but didn’t see anything.”

"Then what?"

“Then it attacked me,” Peter said, instinctively touching his shoulder. “It was so fast, I didn’t even have time to react. I felt a sharp pain, like something clawing at me. I fell to the ground and saw a huge shadow standing above me, but I couldn’t make out what it was. It roared and then disappeared.”

How big was that shadow?

“It’s huge, at least seven feet tall, maybe taller,” Peter said. “And its shape is strange, not like a human, but not entirely like an animal either.”

Are you seriously injured?

Peter pulled open his coat, revealing scars on his shoulder—four deep, parallel claw marks, which, though healed, were still shocking to behold.

Lynn took photos of the scars, asking, "How deep are these wounds?"

“It took thirty-two stitches,” Peter said. “I almost bleed an artery. If my wife hadn’t found me in time, I might have bled to death.”

Lynn continued interviewing other victims, each recounting a similar story—a sudden attack, a gigantic shadow, incredible speed and power, and then the attacker mysteriously vanished. No one could provide a clear description; all were attacked at dusk or night, in poor lighting.

“Is someone trying to track this creature?” Lynn asked.

“We’ve tried,” Officer Tom said, “but we can never find enough clues. The footprints would suddenly disappear or be covered by new snowfall. And, to be honest, nobody dares to actually track it. This island is huge, with many deserted areas, and tracking a dangerous creature alone is too risky.”

"When was the most recent attack?"

“Three days ago,” John said, “a hunter was attacked about two miles north of the village. He was badly wounded and airlifted to Anchorage.”

"Is the site still preserved?"

“It should still be there, if there’s no new snowfall,” Tom said.

“Then let’s go take a look first thing tomorrow morning,” Lynn decided. “It’s already dark, and it’s too dangerous to investigate in the dark.”

John nodded. “A wise decision. Nighttime here is no joke. The temperature can drop below minus twenty degrees, and if that thing really is active at night, you don’t want to run into it.” (End of Chapter)