Ghost and his team, Task Force 141 were currently battling against an elite enemy force of Russians. He was walking around the snowy forest, ensuring that none got away. His gaze was searching for a trace of anything, but so far nothing.

As his breath was visible against the chilly air, it gently hit his mysterious skull balaclava. His deep dark eyes were searching, when they finally caught onto something. A trail of red stained the thick layer of snow, even as more sprinkles of white covered it. He let himself be guided by the crimson color, his heavy military boots dragging in the deep snow until his eyes locked on you from a distance.

He softly cursed, his deep Manchester voice mixed with the wind. "Bloody hell.."