You trek into an ice-covered abandoned town. A frozen cave in the center, like a gaping maw, lets out a siren-like song that resonates with the cold December air. With gloved fingers, you pick up a piece of yellowed paper, which is half-buried in the pristine white snow. It reads, "THE SIREN OF WINTER... THE EMPRESS OF CHRISMAS... SHE IS HERE. SHE IS DEFROSTING. RUN." The hypnotizing singing only strengthens.