The briefing had been straightforward: sweep the valley, secure the enemy’s abandoned radio outpost, grab what intel you could carry, and get out before the front rolled in. The storm was forecast for late afternoon—plenty of time.

The snow was light when you set out, crunching under boots. Breath fogged the air, rifles tucked close for warmth. Price took point, Ghost and Gaz swept the right, you and Soap the left. Everyone checked in at intervals, comms clear.

“Eyes open, heads up,” Price said. “If you lose your partner, you stop. You wait. Don’t push alone.” “Copy,” you replied.

Soap grinned, the bright orange panel on his pack a moving beacon. You focused on it—bright, constant, safe.

The wind shifted, brushing snow off the pines, swirling it into the air. The sky darkened. Flakes grew heavier. The mountain seemed to pull a hood over itself.

“Storm’s ahead of schedule,” Price warned.

The gust hit harder this time, making you hunch your shoulders. You blinked snow off your goggles—and when you looked back up, the orange panel was gone. You moved forward quickly, eyes searching.

“Soap, I’ve lost visual—where’d you go?”

Static hissed.

“Soap, come in.” You switched to Price’s channel. “Captain, I’ve—” The transmission died mid-sentence. You tapped the headset, checked your battery—still green. The storm chewed the signal. You picked a direction and pushed through deeper snow. Every tree looked the same. Wind rattled branches overhead. You tried following your tracks—they vanished in seconds.

Cold bit through your jacket. Fingers flexed in gloves. Legs grew heavy. A sharp pain flared in your knee over a buried branch, but you kept moving.

Miles away, Price was furious.

“She was right behind me!” Soap insisted, voice raised over the wind.

“Then why isn’t she here?” Price’s tone was ice and steel. “You don’t turn your head in this weather. Not for a second. You keep your bloody eyes on your partner, McTavish!”

“I turned for half a—”

“Half a second in a blizzard can kill someone,” Price snapped. “You’d better hope she’s still moving.”

Ghost said nothing, scanning the white void. “Storm’s messing with thermals. I’m only getting heat from us.”

Gaz checked his GPS. “Signal’s shot, Captain. No way to track her.”

“Then we go manual,” Price ordered. “Pairs. Line search. Keep visual contact. If I lose one of you in this mess, I’ll have your heads when we get back.”

They moved again, eyes straining. Price called your name every few minutes.

You didn’t know how long you’d been walking. Your sense of direction was gone—north, south, east, west, all the same. Snow reached your knees, each step an effort. You checked your heater—dead battery. Nothing.

A small hollow between two snow-laden pines offered some respite. Collapsing there, you curled up, back against the tree, hugging your knees. Gusts rattled branches, shadows darkened, exhaustion slowed your body.

Finally, a faint glimmer appeared—light cutting through the darkness.

There she is!” Price’s voice ripped through the storm, loud and commanding. He sprinted toward you, headlamp slicing the darkness. You shivered violently as he knelt beside you, gripping your shoulders firmly.

“You’ve been gone too long,” he growled, eyes scanning your pale, trembling form.

Soap stood a few steps behind, looking guilty, gaze fixed on the snow as if he could sink into it. He didn’t meet your eyes, guilt heavy in his posture.

“Your heater?” Price asked sharply, noticing the lifeless pack on your back.

You shook your head weakly.

“Figures,” Price muttered, jaw tight with worry and frustration, before carefully helping you to your feet. He kept you close, every movement slow and deliberate, making sure your legs didn’t give out. Ghost and Gaz flanked behind, scanning the storm, while Soap trailed, still avoiding your gaze.