Due to the town’s northerly position on the map, December is the most difficult time of the year. Three hours of light await the inhabitants each morning. These cruel conditions have orchestrated the death of hundreds of Oymyakon residents; the rest of the citizens have long since evolved to be something quite like superhuman. Their skin has grown thicker over the years like that of penguins; their lips no longer turn blue; their blood is warm. The population is growing larger with each day. Polar bears and whales have been extinct for nearly seventy years, and the Oymyakons rely on the plentiful amount of fish in the sea to cook their meals. There are no birds in the sky and no living animals roaming the small pathways that make up the incredible ice city the Oymyakons call home.        

Occasionally, brave troopers undertake missions out into the unknown world, where herbs and edible plants are abundant. In modern days, it is not the cold that leads these brave souls to their death, but the prospect that once the city is out of eyesight, there is no map to guide them back home. There are no other cultures for miles and miles around. There is nothing but white and cold.    

On a December morning one particularly chilly year, a man came to Oymyakon with the aid of only a compass. Dressed in tall snow boots and a coat which made him the size of a bear, he did not quite look like a part of the community of Oymyakon. His lips and fingers were blue; his head so cold, he was just about ready to pass out. He was welcomed into the home of the richest man in town, was placed before a roaring fire and was offered a cup of pine tea. The owner of the mansion, a man named Ilia Popov, was nothing short of arrogant—he was disliked by many, but had still gained position among the top ranks in the town council and had multiplied his already enlarged wealth from there on. Popov was a small man with a pointy nose and somewhat rat-like features; he spoke English, but with an accent no one had ever heard of and one that didn’t go away no matter how much he spoke to the other inhabitants of his society.    

A maid set the pine tea down on a side table, and Popov examined the newcomer. The man had been brought to him by his daughter, who had been playing outside. Nina had been frightened by the stranger in the large coat, because she had never seen such an enormous hide in her life. Nina’s friend had shrieked, saying there was some type of animal in Oymyakon; Nina herself had been brave enough to near the visitor, ask him where he was from, and whether he would like to warm up inside her home. Oh yes, the man had replied without hesitating. He was freezing.    

After one sip of tea, the foreigner pulled a face and set it back down. This interested Popov, who had decided not to sit down next to the stranger but to stand before him, rather at a distance, to inspect him. Surely the man came from somewhere far away. No one from Oymyakon would freeze to death or turn down a cup of pine tea.    

“I em thoroughly eenterested as to who you might bee and vere you have come vrom,” said Popov.    

The stranger did not look back at him—his gaze was travelling through the home, which Popov found rather meddlesome for some reason. He knew he owned a large house, and a beautiful one at that—the walls were painted the color of oak to make them look like they belonged in a cozy ski hut, even though they were made of strong steel—there were beautiful pine wreaths adorning the walls—the fire place was larger than twice Popov’s length—    

The stranger said, leaning back in his chair, “I have come to warn you.” He spoke perfect English.    

Popov swallowed.     

“As secluded as your town is from the rest of the world,” continued the foreigner, “you cannot escape the biggest disaster mankind has seen thus far. People are dying just across the Russian border.”    

“Oh, men, vat a catastrophee,” said Popov, sarcastically.    

“You don’t understand, sir. The plague, the storm, whatever it is, has destroyed a large part of the world already, and it’s coming to Siberia. It’s coming to Oymyakon.”    

“How agh you so sure about zet?”    

“I’ve been travelling for weeks, tracking the apocalypse and staying well ahead of its hold. I took a train from Moscow, but had to finish the journey on foot. It’s too cold for a train here. Too cold for anything, really.” He shivered; even though the room was normal temperature for non-Oymyakon people, he was still in shock from his arctic voyage.    

“Except ven your culture has eevolved,” Popov boasted. “We do not veel zhe cold anymore. I’m sure ve can survive whatevegh is coming. My people agh invinceeble.”    

“I wouldn’t be too sure about that. There are countries out there with men stronger than grizzly bears, with women faster than rabbits. Humans have evolved into nothing short of superheroes. Oymyakon is not the only town with enhanced skills and abilities. And yet, thousands of people have been killed.”    

Popov scrutinized every part of the stranger. The man had taken off his coat and hung it over the back of the chair, and he was a lean man underneath all the fur, with a light blue blouse and dark pants. He took off his enormous hat, as well, revealing rugged blond hair. Oymyakons didn’t have blond hair. “Vat does zhis mean vor us?” Popov asked, quivering a bit.    

The stranger peered down at the tea he had been offered. “There are people coming to save you from the disaster—“    “Oh, zhank you, sir!”    

“—but there’s a catch.”    

“Vat?”    

“Your rescuers will only accept one man and one woman, who will represent Oymyakon for further generations when safer times have developed. Your town is responsible for choosing who that man and woman will be.” He glanced at Popov inquisitively. “Do you think you and the rest of Oymyakon can make that decision?”    

Popov’s eyes gleamed. “How very, very grateful I am to have taken you into my home, sir outsider. I em sure zhet, in exchange vor my benevolent nature tovard you, you can promeese me zhet zhis invormation vill be kept a deep, daghk secret…”    

“Unfortunately, the rest of the Oymyakons must be alerted immediately—“    

Popov advanced on the stranger until his eyes were just a few inches from those belonging to the other man. The stranger backed up in his seat, uncomfortable, for he had not seen anger in the owner of the mansion until now. Behind Popov’s back, the fire roared as if in threat. “Listen to me, sir outsider, my life is very, very eemportant to me end to my daughter Nina. I edvise you greatly to remain silent about zhis ordeal so zhet Nina end I survive as zhe representors of Oymakon.”    

“I’m afraid I can’t do that,” breathed the stranger.    

“Vell zhen get out of my house!” screamed Popov, in a sudden bout of fury. “You heve done enough!” In that moment, Popov heard the little tremor of breath behind him. He turned around and found Nina hiding behind a cabinet at the far end of the room. The girl, who could barely be older than sixteen, had been spying on him and on their conversation; now she sped out of the door and pretended not to have been in the room at all.    “Nina!” Popov shrieked, but there was nothing he could do now—his daughter had heard the entire conversation and, with the good heart Popov knew she possessed, she would tell all her friends what was going on within a timeframe of five minutes.

“It’s good you’re not the only one who knows,” said the visitor from behind him. Popov was trembling with anger; not only did he resent the outsider for making him believe Oymyakon might possibly come to a fall, but he hated the idea of perhaps not being chosen to be saved from the apocalypse the man spoke of.    “If you had any contact with the outside world,” continued the stranger calmly, having stood up from the chair and taken the enormous bundle of fur coat in his arms, “you would have long since known what is going on.”    

“I say, get out of my house,” said Popov. “Give me time to zhink zhis zhrough.”    

The man silently put on his hat, followed by his scarf, followed by his coat and gloves, until he looked like a bear again. “Is there a hotel in Oymyakon?”    

Popov looked at him scornfully. “We don’t have guests here.”    He watched the man leave—stand stiff for a moment as he opened the door and felt the cold overflowing his body again—a cold in which he would have to keep walking until he found somewhere else to stay—  

Popov didn’t let any of his heart become good. He did not ask the man to stay. He merely watched as the door closed. He was alone again. Popov looked at the picture frames on his wall, the ones bearing photos of himself, looking an important part of the Oymyakon council. There was one small picture of Nina, hidden by the door. The rest of the wall was decorated by the massive hide of a polar bear. Hm, thought Popov, his lip curling as he thought of the unwelcome man in Oymyakon, who had brought such perplexing news. He was genuinely intrigued, but also quite wary of the man with the enormous hide. Look et zhat coat he brought wiz him, thought Popov to himself. Vhere’s he vrom, anyvay?