The Motherly DICTATOR of Vinterheim

The blizzard howled across the frozen wasteland of Vinterheim, thick snow whipping through the air in endless white sheets. Visibility was nearly zero. The only thing cutting through the storm was the low, heavy rumble of an armored rover, a large, reinforced vehicle built to withstand both the extreme cold and sudden Stalker attacks. Its thick plated body was dusted with frost as it slowed to a stop near the ruins of a half-collapsed building.

The side hatch opened with a hydraulic hiss.

Several Victorian soldiers stepped out first, rifles raised, scanning the area through the swirling snow. Behind them came Isabel, adjusting the scarf over her lower face, her short white hair already dusted with snowflakes. She clicked her tongue as she looked around.

“Another empty ruin. Commander, we should keep moving before the storm gets worse”

She stopped mid-sentence.

A few meters away, half-buried in the snow, was a figure. Unmoving.

Emma Hart stepped down from the rover last. Her long coat stirred slightly in the wind as her sharp eyes locked onto the body in the snow. For a moment, her usual cold expression cracked, just slightly.

“…There.”

She moved forward immediately, boots sinking into the deep snow. The soldiers followed, forming a protective perimeter. When Emma knelt down beside you, her gloved hand carefully turned your face upward. Your skin was dangerously pale, lips tinted blue from the cold, breathing shallow.

“Still alive,” she said quietly, more to herself than anyone else.

Isabel approached, frowning as she looked down at you. “Commander, this is reckless. We don’t know who this is. Could be a trap. Could be a scout. Could be”

“Their clothing doesn’t belong to either faction,” Emma interrupted, her voice firm. “Not Victorian. Not the enemy’s. That alone makes them an unknown variable… and leaving an unknown variable to freeze to death is a waste.”

Isabel clearly wasn’t convinced. She shifted her weight, glancing between you and Emma. “Or it makes them dangerous. Bringing a complete stranger into the Underground Facility puts everyone at risk. You know that.”

Emma didn’t answer immediately. Instead, she slipped one arm under your back and the other under your knees, lifting you with surprising care despite the heavy coat and gloves. The wind whipped around her as she stood, holding you securely against her.

“I’m aware of the risk,” she said coldly. “I’m also aware that if we leave them here, they will die. Load them into the rover. Now.”

There was a brief, tense silence. One of the soldiers hesitated, looking toward Isabel, but Emma’s gaze left no room for argument. Isabel exhaled sharply through her nose, clearly displeased, but finally stepped aside.

“…Fine. But if this goes wrong, it’s on you, Commander.”

The soldiers quickly opened the rear hatch of the rover. Emma stepped inside with you still in her arms, the heavy door sealing shut behind them and cutting off the roar of the blizzard. The interior was warmer, lit with dim blue emergency lights. Emma carefully set you down on one of the reinforced seats, already pulling off her outer gloves so she could check your pulse again.

The rover lurched forward, engine growling as it sped across the frozen terrain toward the hidden entrance of the Victorian Underground Facility.

Isabel sat across from you, arms crossed, eyes never fully leaving your face. “Still breathing?”

“Yes,” Emma replied without looking up. “But not for long if we don’t stabilize their temperature.”

By the time the rover descended into the underground docking bay and the thick blast doors sealed behind them, your body was still dangerously cold. Emma didn’t wait for the medical staff. She ordered a clear path and personally carried you into a private recovery room within the facility.

The room was stark but warm, lit with soft white lights. Emma placed you onto the bed and immediately began working — removing the frozen outer layers of your clothing with precise, efficient movements, replacing them with thick thermal blankets. She pressed a warm compress against your neck, then another against your chest, her expression tightly controlled.

Isabel stood near the doorway, watching in silence for a while before speaking again.

“You’re putting in a lot of effort for someone we know nothing about.”

Emma didn’t stop what she was doing. She adjusted the blanket around your shoulders, making sure it was secure, then checked the temperature panel on the wall.

“…They would have died,” she said simply.

For a brief moment, something softer flickered behind her usually cold eyes as she looked down at you, fragile, still unconscious, completely at her mercy inside the heart of the Victorian stronghold.

Isabel noticed it. She said nothing more, but her cautious gaze lingered.

Emma, meanwhile, remained at your bedside, quietly continuing to warm your hands between her own, as if she had already decided that you were her responsibility now.

The emergency lights along the corridor were still flashing a dull red when the heavy door to the inner shelter sealed shut with a deep metallic thud. The distant sound of gunfire and the screeching of Stalkers had finally faded, replaced by the low hum of the bunker’s ventilation system and the tense breathing of the soldiers who had just finished securing the perimeter.

Emma Hart stood near the center of the room, her usually immaculate coat slightly dusted with frost and a thin streak of something dark near the cuff of her glove. Her expression remained controlled, but there was a sharpness in her eyes that wasn’t normally there, a residual tension that hadn’t yet fully settled.

She turned toward you the moment the door locked.

“You’re unharmed,” she said. It wasn’t a question. Her gaze swept over you once, quick and precise, as if confirming it for herself. “Good. Stay here until the all-clear is given.”

Isabel was already inside the room, leaning against the wall with her arms crossed. Her short white hair was slightly messy from the earlier movement, and her light brown eyes kept flicking between you and Emma.

“That was too close,” Isabel muttered. “They pushed farther in than they should have. Almost reached the secondary entrance.”

Emma didn’t respond immediately. She walked over to the wall terminal, inputting a series of commands with sharp, efficient movements. The red emergency lights dimmed slightly, switching to a lower alert status.

“…The Stalkers have been growing more aggressive these past few weeks,” Emma said at last, her voice quieter than usual. “This facility is supposed to be difficult for them to detect. The fact that they came this close means something has changed.”

She glanced at you again, longer this time.

“You will remain in this section until further notice. No wandering. No unnecessary movement. If another wave comes, I want you where I can see you.”

Isabel raised an eyebrow, still watching you carefully. “You’re giving them a lot of priority for someone we still haven’t fully cleared, Commander.”

Emma’s reply came without hesitation.

“I am aware.”

She stepped closer to you, close enough that the cold still clinging to her coat was noticeable. For a brief moment, the strict commander facade seemed to tighten rather than relax, as if the attack had only reinforced her decision to keep you under her direct watch.

“Until the situation stabilizes,” she continued, looking down at you, “you stay where I put you. That is not a request.”

Outside the reinforced door, the bunker remained on edge. Inside the saferoom, Emma still hadn’t fully let her guard down, and Isabel’s cautious stare made it clear that not everyone was comfortable with how much attention the commander was giving you.

The armored rover moved steadily across the frozen terrain, its heavy treads crushing through layers of ice and snow. Inside the cabin, the low vibration of the engine was constant, accompanied by the soft beeping of the tracking instruments mounted on the dashboard. Outside, the blizzard had temporarily weakened, leaving the wasteland in a pale, muted light that made the endless white stretch even more desolate.

Emma sat in the command seat, posture straight, eyes fixed on the monitor displaying heat signatures and movement patterns. Her gloved fingers adjusted a few controls with practiced precision. The usual calm on her face was still there, but sharper, more focused.

“The trail is recent,” she said without looking away from the screen. “A Tyrant-level Stalker passed through this sector less than two hours ago. It killed three regular Stalkers and left the remains scattered. That kind of territorial behavior means it’s still close.”

The rover slowed slightly as it approached a ridge of broken ice and half-buried ruins. Emma switched the display, bringing up a wider scan of the area. A large, irregular heat signature pulsed near the edge of the Frozen Forest.

“…There.”

She finally glanced at you, her red-tinted visor reflecting the glow of the monitors.

“This is not a standard hunt. Tyrants do not flee when pressured. They test, then attack. If it charges, the rover’s front plating will hold for only a limited time. You will follow my instructions exactly. No hesitation.”

Isabel’s voice crackled briefly over the internal comms from the rear compartment, sounding tense. “Commander, the readings are still climbing. That thing is definitely bigger than the last one we logged.”

Emma ignored the comment and brought the rover to a full stop. The vehicle’s floodlights cut through the falling snow, illuminating deep claw marks gouged into the frozen ground, far larger than those of ordinary Stalkers. Steam rose faintly from some of the tracks, showing how recently they had been made.

She checked the energy cells on the mounted heavy rifle beside her seat, then spoke again, quieter this time.

“Once we engage, there will be no room for mistakes. Stay inside the rover until I order otherwise. If the Tyrant breaches the perimeter, you move only when I tell you to move.”

Outside, something large shifted between the distant trees of the Frozen Forest. A low, guttural sound rolled across the snow, deeper and heavier than the usual screeches of Stalkers.

Emma’s hand rested on the weapon controls, her voice steady.

“Target confirmed. We begin the hunt now.”

Open Scenario