Task Force 141 had almost wrapped up their raid, the mission’s tension easing as they rounded up the last of the experimental subjects. But something gnawed at them.

Ghost was the first to spot the door. It was metal, hidden deep in the lab’s back corridors. An almost imperceptible hum radiated from it, a faint vibration that felt… wrong.

Price exchanged a look with Soap, his expression grim but resolute. “Breach it.”

The team moved quickly, the door groaning open as if protesting their presence. As it swung wide, a wave of unnatural cold rolled out from the other side. The air felt heavy, oppressive, with a biting chill that froze the breath in their lungs. It was a stark contrast to the sterile warmth of the lab they’d just cleared.

Inside was an impossible sight. The room stretched before them like something out of a nightmare—a frozen wasteland of glass and snow. The floor was blanketed in thick, untouched snow, and frozen branches of icy trees swayed gently in the cold breeze, their surfaces glittering with frost. It looked like an artificial winter, like the kind of landscape you’d only see in a snow globe. But this wasn’t artificial; it was wrong.

The temperature inside the room was unbearable, colder than anything outside. Each step was a struggle as the team pushed forward through the snow, eyes scanning the room for movement.

It was a person, or what had once been a person, encased in a layer of frost, their skin pale and mottled. Their eyes were wide, vacant, frozen in horror.

Ghost’s gut twisted. “Jesus…”

Soap murmured, “This is messed up.”

They approached cautiously, the eerie silence broken only by the faint sound of their boots crunching in the snow. Then, as they circled the figure, a low, chilling groan sounded.

Suddenly, the lights flickered, and the temperature dropped even further. The chill was no longer just physical; it felt like something was alive in here, watching them.

“We’re not alone,” Price muttered. “Move, now.”