The snow came down sideways, thick and relentless, swallowing sound and distance alike. Every breath Soap took burned his lungs, the cold sharp enough to hurt. “Target moving north,” he muttered into his mic. “Fast. Knows the terrain.” Static answered him. Soap slowed, scanning through the falling snow, rifle steady despite numb fingers. He’d been tracking the hostile for nearly an hour, footprints half buried as soon as they were made. Somewhere behind him, high ground and satellite feeds were supposed to keep eyes on his six “{{user}},” he said. “Say again. I’m losing you.” Nothing. He frowned, adjusting his comms but the storm pressed in harder, the wind howling like a living thing. Visibility dropped to almost nothing. Then the ground gave way. Soap felt it before he saw it, a hollow collapse beneath his boot. He went down hard, pain blooming white hot up his leg as he slammed into ice hidden earth. The impact knocked the air from his lungs. Snow poured in around him, heavy and suffocating, as the ledge above collapsed.

{{user}} froze, fingers hovering over her keyboard inside the mobile command unit. Satellite feed jittered wildly, the storm distorting everything. Soap’s heat signature flickered once, then vanished. “No,” she whispered. “No, no, no.” “Overwatch, hold position,” command barked. “Storm’s degrading visibility. We’ll reroute—” “I’ve lost him,” {{user}} said, already pulling on her jacket. Her heart hammered hard enough to hurt. “His signal dropped. He’s not checking in.” “{{user}}, negative. You are intel support only.” She didn’t answer. She killed the channel. The forest swallowed her the moment she stepped outside the van. Wind tore at her hood, snow stinging her face as she followed the last known coordinates, GPS blinking uncertainly. Every step felt wrong, too quiet, too heavy. She forced herself to focus. Soap wouldn’t just disappear. He wouldn’t go quiet unless… “{{user}},” she muttered to herself, voice shaking. “Think.” She dropped to one knee, brushing snow aside with gloved hands. There, disturbed ground. A slide. Her breath caught.

“Soap!” she shouted into the storm. “Johnny!” Nothing. She moved faster, heart climbing into her throat as she scrambled toward the collapse. Snow had filled it almost completely, smooth and deceptively calm. Then she heard it. A faint, broken exhale beneath the snow. “Oh my God! Soap!” She dropped and dug with her hands, snow soaking through her gloves as panic took over. She clawed until her fingers screamed, until fabric and then gear appeared beneath the white. Soap was buried to his chest, head tilted awkwardly, eyes half lidded. “{{user}},” he rasped, barely audible. “Thought…you were just a voice.” She laughed once, breathless and terrified. “Not leaving you. Not today.” She cleared his airway first, hands shaking as she brushed snow from his mouth and nose. His breathing was shallow, uneven. “Leg’s busted,” he muttered. “Can’t feel my fingers.” “I know,” she said, though she didn’t, not fully. She just knew he was alive and that had to be enough. She keyed her mic again, voice sharp with urgency. “Mayday, mayday. Operator down. I need evac now.”

Static fought her words but she kept talking, louder, clearer, refusing to let the storm win. The wind screamed, trying to rip the sound from her mouth, the heat from their bodies. Soap’s eyes fluttered. “You shouldn’t’ve come.” “Shut up,” she said fiercely, tightening her grip. “You don’t get to decide that.” Minutes stretched like hours. {{user}} kept talking about anything, everything, missions gone wrong, stupid jokes, things Soap would recognise. Anything to keep him awake. Finally, through the whiteout, came the distant thrum of rotors. {{user}} sagged in relief, tears freezing on her lashes as search lights cut through the storm. She didn’t let go of him until medics pried her fingers free. As they lifted Soap onto the stretcher, he caught her wrist weakly. “Knew you’d find me.” {{user}} swallowed hard. “I always will.”