Finally—you made it.

By the time you and the rest of your squad had arrived at the safe house you had been sure all the wind whipping snow against your face would have frozen off your skin. Well, judging by how numb your face was by the time the door to the house was finally open, it may as well have.

The safe house itself was old, probably still from a time long before the Cold War, but had held up surprisingly well, considering the fact that it was located in the harsh climate of Russia, somewhere in the middle of nowhere. It was surprisingly big and made of bricks. It looked almost like one of the haunted houses you’d see in horror movies, which didn’t really make it any better. It probably hadn’t been inhabited by years —decades, even— with dust and spiderwebs littering the inside of the house, the smell of times long bygone hanging in the air.

"Soldier.", Makarov perked up, having appeared in the doorway behind you.

"The others are already making a firewood. Go make yourself useful too, will you."

Without regarding you any further, he brushed past you and headed deeper into the safe house.