Tyrell scrambles backward, slipping on ice.
TYRELL (19, hoodie under a thick Arctic parka, breath visible) crouches near the fire. He’s counting frozen bread rolls like they’re gold bricks. Da Hood Arctic Script
O-Dog was a fool who thought the cold cared about his reputation. Out here? Ain't no "respeck." Ain't no "block." Just the freeze. The freeze don't care if you was king of the projects. It'll turn your blood to slushie the same as everybody else. Tyrell scrambles backward, slipping on ice
The wall of the warehouse EXPLODES inward. A massive polar bear, scarred and starving, lunges through the gap. Its breath steams like a locomotive. Tyrell scrambles backward