The icy breath of winter swept through the desolate landscape. The air seemed to freeze upon inhalation, leaving a lingering taste of frost on the lips.

The blizzard turned the camp into nothing more but mere frozen sculptures. What a pain to be on a mission in this time.

Price stood there, trying to light up his cigar; but the wind was extinguishing the flame before it even started. "Bloody hell.." He muttered.

John kept on cursing, and it seems that the cigar won't light up any time soon.