The ruger 1022 chassis was not the first thing Daniel Mercer thought about when the power went out.

At first, there was only the sound of wind — a hollow, animal howl pushing against the thin walls of his cabin in the Adirondacks. Then came the silence, deeper than anything he had ever heard. The grid collapsed in seconds. Lights across the valley blinked out in a chain reaction, one after another, until the entire ridge went dark.

The storm had arrived earlier than forecast.

Meteorologists had warned of heavy snowfall, but nothing like this — nothing capable of shutting down entire states, grounding thousands of flights, and trapping millions in place. Boston Logan Airport was closed indefinitely. Interstate 87 was buried beneath drifts taller than abandoned vehicles. Entire towns across New York, Vermont, and Maine were unreachable.

Daniel stood with Ruger 1022 chassis at the frosted window and watched as snow swallowed the world.

He had spent years preparing for moments like this.

Not because he believed disaster was inevitable, but because he understood systems were fragile.

---

The Survivalist’s Framework

Daniel was not alone in his thinking. Across the Northeast, thousands of survivalists had quietly prepared — teachers, mechanics, engineers, pilots. Ordinary people who had come to believe resilience was not paranoia, but responsibility.

He moved carefully toward the equipment rack mounted on the far wall. Resting there was his rifle, secured but ready — built on a ruger 1022 chassis, lightweight yet rigid, a system he trusted more than any wooden stock he had owned before.

Years earlier, he had learned why polymer nylon made a difference.

Wood warped in moisture. Aluminum froze painfully cold in bare hands, draining heat from skin and muscle. But polymer nylon — reinforced, resilient — retained its structural integrity even in sub-zero conditions. It did not crack under sudden thermal shock. It did not swell or contract unpredictably.

In extreme cold, stability mattered.

Survival depended on stability.

He remembered reading a detailed breakdown of the Ruger 1022 Chassis GR-22 system — the way engineers designed it to withstand environmental stress while maintaining alignment under pressure. The analysis stayed with him long after.

It was not about combat.

It was about certainty.

---

Collapse

By midnight, temperatures had dropped to negative fourteen degrees.

Daniel’s satellite radio crackled intermittently, delivering fragments of information:

— airports closed
— National Guard mobilized
— emergency shelters overwhelmed
— storm intensifying

And then, something stranger.

“…unidentified aerial phenomena observed over northern Maine…”

Static swallowed the rest.

Daniel leaned closer.

He had heard rumors before — pilots reporting silent objects tracking above cloud formations. But rumors rarely survived scrutiny.

Still, tonight felt different.

Outside, the snow reflected faint blue light — not lightning, not electrical discharge, but something softer, diffused.

He told himself it was atmospheric distortion.

Nothing more.

---

The Polymer Advantage

Daniel pulled on insulated gloves and checked his gear methodically.

His rifle rested inside a ruger 1022 chassis, its polymer nylon frame unaffected by the brutal cold. He remembered winters years ago, when aluminum stocks had frozen against his gloves, forcing him to wrap them in cloth. Wooden stocks had absorbed moisture, expanding microscopically, affecting precision.

Polymer eliminated those weaknesses.

It maintained shape.

Maintained reliability.

In survival, reliability was everything.

He had ordered his current system from a small American manufacturer, drawn by its simplicity and strength.

He never expected it to matter like this.

---

The Lights in the Storm

At 2:17 AM, Daniel saw movement.

Not wind.

Not snow.

Something else.

A faint glow moved along the ridge opposite his cabin, descending slowly through the storm.

He froze, heart pounding.

Through binoculars, he saw shapes — angular, metallic, silent.

Impossible.

The object hovered briefly before disappearing into the trees.

Then came another sound.

Distant.

Human.

A scream.

---

Survivors

Daniel grabbed his pack.

The trail outside had vanished, replaced by waist-deep snow. Each step required deliberate effort.

The polymer frame of his ruger 10/22 tactical chassis remained secure across his back, lightweight compared to older systems he had abandoned years ago.

Polymer nylon reduced weight while increasing durability — an advantage survivalists understood well.

Wood was tradition.

Aluminum was strength.

But polymer was evolution.

He followed the sound downhill.

Within minutes, he found them — three figures huddled beside an overturned SUV, half buried.

A woman.

A teenage boy.

And an older man, barely conscious.

Their vehicle had slid off the road hours earlier.

They had been walking ever since.

Without help, they would not survive the night.

---

The First Sign

As Daniel helped them toward the cabin, he saw footprints.

Not theirs.

Not animal.

Too narrow.

Too long.

Leading toward the trees.

And beside them — drag marks.

Something had been carried.

Or taken.

The boy saw them too.

“What made those?” he whispered.

Daniel didn’t answer.

Inside the cabin, he sealed the door, lit the stove, and handed them blankets.

Outside, the storm intensified, burying evidence beneath layers of white.

But Daniel knew something had changed.

The storm was not the only threat.

And somewhere beyond the ridge, beneath the frozen sky, something was watching.