One morning, during the everlong daylight of the spring and summer - this one seems unnaturally warm - when everyone clung onto the few more hours of sleep they had, a deafening noise resonated in the ice and snow. Penetrating even into the habitation sectors inside the mountains, the noise captures everyone by surprise. As for me, I'm a restless sleeper anyway, so I bolt up when it begins. Screams. That's what the sound is: it's the sound of something screaming into the air. The entire population of Contania hears it. In the land's central hub, known simply as the Pole, the leaders of each sector of the land gather to discuss the noise. Out of nine, six deduce that the sound has got to be some sort of life beyond the toxic radiation. But our ancestors developed technology which should have rendered sounds from afar in silence.
The first refugees of Contania built and projected a plexi-dome around the entire population. It's supposed to keep nuclear fuel and radiation from infecting. The plexi-dome was built so well that sound should have been impossible to get through such a dense material. But somehow, this morning, something did. In the Pole, the intelligence gatherers, or Hives as I call them, scan the area around Contania into the vast unknown, hoping to find nothing. After hours of sweeping the sea and the tip of a continent known as Af-ree-car, something catches the Hives' attention.
The scanner scope, consisting of a bluish glowing sweeper arm, with Contania's outline in the center, scanned the landscape for hours. In those hours they heard nothing irregular. But, when the Hives were about to give up, a 'bloop' sounded on the radar. As they watched the scanner finish another sweep, that was when they saw it.
About 200 miles away from Contania, where the old land of Australia lay in ruin, a large circle detected the presence of irregularity. Shocked beyond belief, the Hives continued to watch. On the next scan, they saw that the circle began moving. Moving towards Contania.