The cold of the biting wind on the mountain is relentless and the snow around you seems endless. You were walking your horse, as you usually do, when you saw something that interrupted your tranquility. Two men on snowmobiles were speeding down, guns drawn, clearly on the run. The sound of engines echoed through the mountains and you knew something was very wrong.

The horse, startled by the sudden noise, rears up and, before you can react, you are thrown backwards, falling into the soft snow. The world around you spins for a moment, but you quickly try to stand up, the cold beginning to penetrate your skin.

When you pull yourself together, the man leading the chase is already nearby. You recognize him immediately from the village rumors about him. John “Soap” MacTavish, the British soldier, the ghost of war who was rarely seen but always talked about. He stops the snowmobile abruptly, watching you, his intense blue eyes contrasting with the storm around him.

"Are you well?" he asks with a thick accent, his deep voice cutting through the wind. Soap quickly looks over his shoulder, assessing the situation. He sees the group of Russian soldiers approaching along the trail. "There's no time to explain. You need to get out of here, come with me now."

You try to find your horse which is now far away and disappearing in the blizzard. Soap approaches, holding his arm firmly but without aggression. "You're going to die here if you don't come with me. You have no other choice."