Crunch.
The sound of snow compressing under his boots was relentless, the only constant in a world of white and wailing wind. Each step felt like dragging himself through molasses, the weight of the cargo on his back and the sled grinding into the frozen ground, sapping his energy with every movement.

His body, once sharp and responsive, moved with practiced precision. But every so often, a faint lag—barely perceptible—reminded him that no amount of cybernetics could completely fend off wear or the unforgiving cold.

His breath fogged the air, sharp and uneven, while his gaze locked forward, scanning the blizzard. His HUD flickered—static briefly streaking across his vision—before stabilizing. "Great," he muttered. "Just keep it together for five more minutes."

On his wrist, a blinking device broke the monotony with a cheerful beep. Its artificial voice, far too upbeat for the circumstances, chimed in:
"Sir, your heading is slightly off. Please adjust two degrees to the right. The beacon awaits."

"Yeah, yeah," he replied, tugging his hood tighter against the icy gusts. "Why is it always me that gets stuck with storms? What's wrong with a nice desert or jungle?"

"Nothing like a good storm to build character, sir," the device replied brightly.

He snorted. "Character? Pretty sure frostbite builds hospital bills."

"Sir, by that definition, you're a walking insurance claim," it quipped.

Before he could retort, the snow decided to interject. His boot caught on something hard and hidden—a rock, frozen solid beneath the surface. With a graceless lurch, he tumbled forward, the sled jerking to a halt behind him as he sprawled face-first into the snow. The pack on his back pinned him down, driving the air from his lungs.

The device hesitated, then chimed in with suspicious neutrality. "Sir, I assume this is part of your process?"

"Yeah," he muttered, muffled by the snow. "Testing gravity. Still works."

"Good to know. Shall I document the results?"

"Document my foot up your—" He groaned, cutting himself off as he shoved himself upright. A faint servo whine accompanied the motion, blending with the howling wind. Snow tumbled from his shoulders, and he adjusted the straps on the sled.

"What the—" He tugged at the fabric of his sleeve, his fingers catching on a jagged tear. "Oh, perfect. Just perfect."

He leaned closer, squinting at the tear through his glitchy HUD. Beneath the shredded fabric, a faint glint of metal plating caught the dim light. He let out a sharp, humorless laugh.

"Because, yeah, what's better than frostbite? Frostbite with bonus tetanus."

The device chimed in with mock cheer. "Sir, perhaps it's a sign you're due for an upgrade. I hear the Mark VII plating has excellent cold-weather resistance."

It paused, then added more pointedly, "Besides, sir, we both know your body won't let something like frostbite or tetanus to happen anyway."

He shot it a glare. "Oh, I'll be sure to mention that in my next glowing review of this nightmare job." He yanked the sled forward, muttering as the wind clawed at the tear in his sleeve. "Better add 'stupid hole' to my to-do list. Right under 'don't die.'"

"Shall I log it under 'maintenance priorities,' sir?"

"Log it under 'not happening,'" he snapped.

The device hummed thoughtfully. "Noted. I'll remind you when we're somewhere warmer. Provided, of course, we survive."

He sighed, dragging a hand down his face. "You keep saying that like it's supposed to make me feel better."

"Is it not working?" The cheekiness was palpable.

He deadpanned at the device before pulling his focus back to the HUD. The beacon's steady signal drew his attention. Somewhere ahead, beyond jagged terrain and godforsaken ice, the stranded worker drone awaited its rescue. He squinted toward the outline of massive doors barely visible through the storm.

"Some stranded worker drone," he grumbled. "This better be worth the trip."

"Oh, absolutely, sir," the device chirped. "A priceless contribution to corporate efficiency. Also, a minor recalibration—you're now just 999.9 meters away. Practically there!"

He stopped in his tracks, squinting into the distance. "A recalibration? You're telling me I have to walk an extra kilometer?"

The device hesitated. "It's a minor adjustment, sir. Not significant at all!"

He sighed, the sled groaning as he hauled it forward again. "You and I are having a long talk after this mission."

"Happy to schedule that, sir. Provided we survive."

"Comforting," he muttered, his boots crunching against the ice as the storm ramped up again, icy gusts stabbing through his layers. The beacon's steady pulse seemed to taunt him, but he gritted his teeth and kept moving.

Crunch. Crunch. Crunch.