Leadbull - It was a cold winter night in the arctic. The Aurora Borealis illuminated the vast barren, icy wilderness that lay ahead in a soft, lime green glow. Even though the Arctic Circle is 100 miles south of here, there are absolutely no polar bears in sight--strange, since this has been a long, cold winter and the ice sheets are intact and prevalent. You ponder this for hours as you sit there, slowly dying. Your bush plane crash landed, and with no food supply, you will be dead within a matter of days. It's already been a week and you've survived only on melted snow. No rescue mission has come, and you're certain they've given up (Author's note: THEY HAVE). Delirium sets in and you enter what you think is a daze. Suddenly, a Russian ice breaker approaches from the east. The ground shakes and produces some utterly terrifying noises. Creaking. Moaning. You have zero energy, but you somehow manage to stand up and wave your arms. The massive ship approaches, and finally toots it's horn, signaling that they've spotted you. Several men clamber down the hull ladder and rush over to your position. They get closer. Even closer. Close enough for you to see their prominent beards. Even closer than that. Still closer. You see the whites of their eyes. You begin to cry tears of joy as the lead man extends his hand in welcome. You shake it. You wake up. You are now shaking hands with a hungry polar bear. "Well, this is the end," you think. WRONG. You wake up yet again. You arrive back where you began--alone, hungry, freezing. Then suddenly, the ice shatters and an ICBM launched from a Virginia class nuclear submarine bursts forth from the icy depths. You are killed instantly, becoming the first casualty of WWIII.