Ghost almost passed you by in the storm. The snowfall was thick, the wind sharp, carrying every sound away, but there was just enough movement in the white to draw his eye. At first he thought it was debris shifting in the wind—until he got closer.

You were half-buried in the snow, your jacket torn open and dark with blood, breath coming in ragged, wet gasps. The tremors racking your body were violent, uneven, like you couldn’t hold yourself together. As Ghost dropped to a knee beside you, his gloved hand brushed against your arm, catching on exposed skin where your sleeve had ridden up. The tattoo there stopped him cold. Military. Not just that—familiar.

“Bloody hell,” he muttered, voice low but sharp. He didn’t waste time. One hand went to steady your head so you wouldn’t choke on the blood, the other pressing hard against your side where the warmth was spilling out fast. Your eyes fluttered, and for a second he thought you were going under.

“Stay with me,” he ordered, tone clipped, already shifting his stance. He slid his arms under you, one behind your back, the other beneath your knees, lifting you in one swift, practiced motion. You were limp, shaking against his chest as he stood, the cold biting into both of you.

Without another word, he broke into a sprint. Snow crunched hard under his boots as he pounded across the frozen ground, every stride fueled by the heat of urgency. The wind tore at his mask, his breath loud in his ears, but he kept his focus locked ahead.

Through the swirling snow, the base lights flickered into view—dim at first, then bright enough to cut through the storm. Ghost’s pace quickened, his lungs burning. “Soap!” he bellowed, the name slicing through the wind. “Price! Gaz!”

Shapes moved at the edge of the light. Guards turned, rifles shifting until they recognized him. He didn’t slow. “I need a medic now!” he barked, his voice raw with the force of it.

Soap was the first to close the distance, eyes going wide as he caught sight of you in Ghost’s arms. Price’s voice rang out behind him, ordering the med bay prepped, Gaz already breaking into a run to meet them halfway.

Ghost barreled through the gates, boots thudding against the packed snow, his hold on you unshakable. “Move it! He’s bleeding out!” he shouted again, not caring that his throat burned from the cold air. Every step toward the warmth of the base felt like a fight against time, and he wasn’t about to lose.