The universe is cold. No doubt.

The marginal planets in desperate need of redemption have faded their eternal shadows in their rotation, but the light of the great sun is still far behind the unreachable clouds.

After two days of sleeping on the hay of the barn due to blood loss, she just curled up and stared at the narrow air window on the side wall.

There was a faint light trying to get into the small barn, and there were large flakes of cold snow trying to get in.

The bracelet's alarm was still screaming, and it took a long time for Mosilaire to lose his mind and refocus his dilated pupils.

Trembling as she reached out to turn off the bracelet's alarm clock, it took her long time to struggle to her very weak body, and then she struggled to put the charged rifle on her back and push the wooden door of the barn open.

This is the third day that her private spaceship crashed on the edge planet D-37.

The hallway outside the barn was a mess, and gray-blue light cast down from the thick layer of snow that blocked the gaps in the ceiling, keeping the eerily silent narrow corridor open to the point where it was easy to see without tripping over the piles of garbage.

Mosilaire walked down the corridor like this, staggering like a half-dead beast in the cold air and loneliness.

She hadn't eaten for two whole days, and the young shell, which had been alive and well dozens of hours ago, was now moving slowly but surely at ridiculous speed,—— as a hunger pang that had never been felt before drove her numbly forward.

She had a vague feeling that her soul might have come out of its shell and had been frozen in the endless blizzard. She's so cold.

Mosilaire gasped softly, but soon discovered the only surprise in the imprisoned place.

A new, translucent metal sign was nailed to a wall not far from her to the left, with the words "Food Pantry" carved into it.

Perhaps what awaited her was a hearty upscaling meal, with nutritious warm milk sweetened and fluffy Catorino bread filled with crispy meat floss and crumbled potato chips.

Although Mosilaire still has plans to lose weight, he doesn't mind being a little greedy this time. - After all, it's not uncommon to celebrate after a catastrophe, isn't it?

She gritted her teeth and finally approached the door of the pantry.

The door to the pantry seemed to be an automatic door, made of a very hard wood—perhaps an expensive iron tree, or some other hardwood that she couldn't distinguish,—— with many layered, intricate and beautiful patterns on it, making it easy to feel how rich and great this broken frontier base once seemed to have been bombed by swarm missiles and your cousin who accompanied you during the New Year's greetings.

Unfortunately, the power went out at the base many years ago, and the wooden door did not make way for Miss Mosilaire very intelligently and gentlemanly, but just stubbornly stood in front of her, as cold as the wind and snow outside the base.

But considering that there was a pried open crack on it, Mosilaire wouldn't bother with it.

Her hungry belly, which was as shriveled as her purse, didn't need to be deliberately contracted, but with a little effort, she easily burrowed into the dark food storehouse.

With the light of the bracelet, the food bank was visible to her: it was about four meters high, covering hundreds of square meters, and there were eight visible refrigerators embedded in the walls alone, with twisted empty shelves in them.

This cold storage must have been filled with a lot of delicious and precious food. It's just irritating that the current cold storage is horribly empty after multiple lootings, and that's why Mosilaire can be seen unhindered and easily at a glance.

She didn't like the feeling of emptiness because it only reminded her of her own stomach, which was also empty.

Mosilaire finally kicked the ground in disappointment, but instead picked up a "stone" that she had just kicked out in surprise.

It wasn't a nasty little boulder, but a gray, frozen mass of worm flesh. There were also several pieces of alien meat of different sizes scattered around the corners, which could add up to about three to four catties.

Perhaps these pesky pieces of meat were left behind by the last group of savages who tried to settle here. And the only reason why they have survived after being forgotten in a corner and because of the winter that followed, is simply because of their poor taste.

One colonist who had been forced to eat it once described it to a reporter passing through: "I had a meal made of that gray, sticky worm meat, and although the spice obscured some of the flavor, I still ate a lot of weird vesicles." Next time I'd rather go hungry, I won't let it defile my soul and body again. ”

Although these bugs, which are widely distributed across multiple galaxies, have saved the lives of many stupid and arrogant pioneers with their disgusting flesh. - But people can't remember things, do they?

Whether or not that guy had eaten worm meat in extreme hunger, Mosilaire didn't really care, and he didn't care at all.

All she knew she didn't have to starve to death — the ill-tasting worm was enough to rekindle a spark of hope in her tormented body.

Next to the pantry is the dining room and kitchen on the ground, and there is even an automatic door in the kitchen that leads directly to the cold storage. - You can find this classic layout in colonies on many planets, as it often saves a lot of time and manpower back and forth in making and storing food, and for seasoned colony leaders, these nuances are also part of the initial construction of the base.

Most of the facilities in the kitchen are fairly well preserved, most likely because they are not worth much money and do not have any useful parts to disassemble.

Although most of the utensils were no different from scrap metal after the power was cut off, she was pleasantly surprised that there was an old stove powered by fuel in the kitchen, which was chosen by the base to keep it for some reason.

There was a thin layer of ash on the stove, apparently unused in a long time. The temperature in the room was also very low, and it took more than ten minutes for Mosilaire to light the fire,—— God forbid, the pulse battery in the stove is still working!

A tiny flame flickered up in the stove, growing and surging with the movement of Mosilaire unscrewing the valve, soon filling the small kitchen with orange-red light.

The fire was warm and gave her an indescribable hope.

Mosilaire found a pot from a field of garbage, and knocked a few pieces of old ice in the pantry, mixing them with worm meat.

She didn't think about the easy access to snow outside, because ice melts much more water than snow at the same volume, and the naturally congealed ice is usually cleaner and more harmless.

Spread the broken ice cubes evenly with the worm meat in the pot, and Mosilaire finally picked up another pot lid and put it on. The lid was a little comically large and didn't match the small pot, but it shouldn't ruin the delicacies she had carefully cooked.

Obviously, Mosilaire's lunch today was boiled worm meat, but considering how long it would take for the frozen worm meat and ice cubes to melt away, she decided to take a stroll around the unusual base before eating.

The abandoned site is clearly in dilapidated condition due to a long period of lack of maintenance and untold brutal looting, but its conservative design with several passages connecting the buildings in the various areas allows it to remain well insulated.

This was one of the main reasons why Mosilaire did not freeze to death during the two-day coma, in addition to the fact that the colony was built on geothermal tunnels, and even the two miniature geothermal vents in the corners were directly integrated into the main building of the base, apparently the former residents of the site intended to use the free geothermal heat to raise the temperature inside the base - which was of course useful, as the current -20°C inside the base was already warm compared to the temperature that might have reached -50°C outside.

If it weren't for the slight smell of sulphur in the vent's constant stream of gases, and other potentially harmful gases, it would have been a good place to take a nap after a full meal - and this unpleasant smell is probably why the buildings in the base have chosen to avoid and stay away from these vents.

These geothermal resources may be of value in the future, provided that she doesn't end up with another vanilla-flavored popsicle in the large, semi-enclosed refrigerator.

Shivering from the cold, Mosilaire changed directions a few more times, and finally walked around the abandoned colony before dinner.

In addition to the dining room, kitchen, and barn, the long-abandoned base also contains a series of necessary rooms, such as workshops, processing points, communication rooms, infirmaries, food storage areas, and security rooms.

In addition, the adjoining main complex also has a lavishly decorated and extremely spacious recreation room, a giant planting greenhouse that is unimaginably large – and even a dozen bedrooms with beautiful stone tiles and en-suite bathrooms that can be used to hide and seek!

Oh, naturally, they also come with a ridiculously clean and empty warehouse.

These areas and buildings are symmetrically arranged, with a central corridor through which Mosilere first passes, connecting them so that the entire main body of the site is enclosed.

With a few surveillance probes, cleverly designed shooting holes and concealment points, and several machine-gun turrets guarding the central passage, these carefully constructed protections have almost turned the base into an impregnable fortress!

However, there were no signs of fighting along the way, perhaps because the colony had been artificially abandoned. Although it didn't seem to have anything to do with her, she still felt sorry for it.

It's not that it doesn't have anything to do with her, if this base is still in operation, and she is greeted by a group of civilized and enthusiastic imperial colonists, she will not be embarrassed like a vole that has been burned by someone.

Through some of the narrow bulletproof windows scattered across the heavy stone walls, Mosilele stood on tiptoe and saw some tall outbuildings standing even under heavy snow and time scattered around the main body, and due to the increasing blizzard outside the base, Mosilere's role and significance for them are unknown. But when the blizzard stops, she'll probably check it out—if the blizzard on this planet does stop.

By the time she returned to the kitchen, the pot full of worm meat had been rattling in the dimly lit kitchen for an unknown amount of time. She didn't really care if the flesh of the worm would be dried up by the long simmer, she was only afraid that the flesh of the worm, which was known for its tenacious vitality, would not be fully cooked, and finally surprised her by jumping out of it when she opened the lid.

So Mosilaire waited patiently for a moment before turning off the stove, and then hurriedly brought the pot to a large stone table in the dining room, which was still in good condition. Unable to find a chair to sit on, she pulled out the dead, dry plant from a pot in the corner of the wall, and then buckled it upside down on the ground, thus using it as a nondescript and somewhat awkward low stool.

Instead of the metal cutlery in the dining room, she took out a pair of chopsticks from her waist — the ones she had broken off from dead plants as she limped through the indoor greenhouse, and then used them as improvised chopsticks after being slightly hardened over the fire.

Chopsticks are convenient—far more convenient than knives and forks—and have been saying so since Mosilaire learned to use them.

Even though her lunch was just a meal of worm meat that dogs don't like to eat (dogs really don't), Mosilaire still regarded it as the most delicious delicacy in the world, gobbling up almost all of her ladylike temperament.

For a survivor suffering from hunger, being able to safely eat any non-toxic, filling food is the happiest thing to do, and it's enough to boost morale in a desperate situation – even though the meat does taste like salty snot bubbles that stubbornly retain their true color after being eaten hard.

Anyway, Mosilaire ate to the fullest - she had really tried hard to get the nausea that was coming up her throat into her belly.

After feeding her stomach, she also collected some pieces of wood scattered around the base, and finally lit some pieces of cloth and other ignitions from the stove to make a small and cute bonfire in the barn.

The campfire was small, but the warmth it gave off was enough to make the survivor who had endured several days of suffering forget the pain and exhaustion of her body for a while, and forget her home and all that she once had.

She leaned lazily on the hay of the barn with her hands behind her head, staring at the campfire, not knowing what she was looking at.

Boom!

A crashing sound lurking under the roar of the blizzard interrupted her thoughts suddenly, faintly and harshly.

Mosilaire immediately stood up and grabbed the charged rifle beside her—the only thing she had salvaged from the wreckage before the ship's reactor exploded—other than her own life—and a deadly weapon full of electricity and ready to go.

The crash came from the gate, the "gate" that had been hastily covered with wood, door panels, and other debris on the ground after she entered the abandoned base when she was seriously injured and desperate.

Mosileldo hoped that the sound was just an auditory hallucination under pressure, and unfortunately, she was going to be disappointed.

For the sound seemed to be intent on teasing Mosilere, and almost as soon as she had the idea, it sounded again, and this time louder and clearer than the last.

Mosilaire was momentarily overwhelmed, but she quickly stood up, pressed the muzzle of her charged rifle in front of her, and slowly walked to the door.

The hastily concealed gap did not do a good job of blocking the entry of howling winds and large snowflakes, nor did it hide the strange figure that dwayed behind the obstruction in the extremely dim light.

Now that it's -50°C outside, and it's likely to fall below -60°C, what kind of person would be so persistent in wanting to enter this long-abandoned base?

The sound of the crash was like a raging wave, constantly hitting her restless heart, and every time the sound sounded, Mosilaire's body shuddered uncontrollably. - Mostly frozen.

With great courage in fear and trepidation, she walked to the gap in the barrier and looked at the guest outside the door.

But it was a face she never wanted to see again in her life—a face of utter horror—a face from hell.