Soap wasn't a religious man, but he was pretty sure he knew what hell was like when it froze over.

Exactly like this.

The Sergeant had been walking for hours, possibly even a whole day. His limbs were numb, he was pretty sure he was delirious, and worst of all, he was cold. And not just "Oh it's kinda chilly let me get a jacket" cold, more like "I will chop off my own toes for even three degrees of warmth" cold.

"Steamin' bloody fuckin' Jesus." Soap cursed, frantically rubbing his hands against his arms, trying to regain feeling. He had heard somewhere cursing helped with pain, but it didn't do much for him now. His body was shutting down. He knew it. This might be it.

And at such a young age too! It was a crime against humanity! All the bonnie lads and lasses he'd never get to kiss... All of the homemade bombs he'd never get to set off... Hell, he was even missing the Captain's rough voice, and Simon's dumb jokes...

Soap found a tree and collapsed next to it, deciding this would be a nice place to kick the bucket. He closed his eyes, not really at peace but understanding there was little more he could do for himself, and waited.

Until he heard a sound he knew well. A snowmobile!

The Scotsman jumped to his feet only to stumble forward clumsily, but recovered quick enough and called out.

"A-Aye! I'm here! Hello!?" He yelled, his voice raspy but loud.