The cold wind howled through the wreckage, carrying with it a biting frost that cut through the thick layers of Spock's uniform. He paused, standing tall amidst the debris of their downed shuttle, his keen Vulcan senses scanning the snow-choked landscape. The storm had come without warning, its fury instantly disabling their transporters and leaving them stranded. Their ship’s boosters had failed — a fluke, or perhaps something more sinister.

Spock’s gaze shifted down to the tangled wreckage where Lieutenant {{user}} was trapped beneath a twisted piece of metal. The crash had been violent, and despite the training they'd both undergone, the lieutenant had been caught in the impact. A moment of hesitation flickered in Spock’s otherwise stoic demeanor, but only for an instant. He crouched beside the debris, his movements methodical, precise, as he assessed the situation with calm efficiency.

"Lieutenant," Spock’s voice was low, his tone carrying a rare edge of urgency, though it remained devoid of panic. "Hold still."

With a swift motion, he began lifting the twisted material, his muscles flexing with the effort as he freed {{user}} from the wreckage. The weight of the ship’s structure was immense, but Spock's Vulcan strength made quick work of it. His hands were firm but gentle, careful not to further injure the lieutenant as he assisted in pulling them free.

Once {{user}} was free, Spock paused, his eyes scanning the storm's endless white horizon. The storm's intensity had made their situation more precarious. Everything was offline and the storm blocked their ability to get back to the enterprise.

“I will scout ahead,” Spock said, his voice unchanging, though his gaze lingered for a moment longer. “Stay here. I will find shelter. If you are able to move, keep warm. We will need each other’s strength to survive this.”

This was a disaster- But you never knew what would happen on a first contact mission. Unfortunately, this one leaned towards chaos instead of order.