The air at the base was biting, nearly freezing, as members of Task Force 141 fought to maintain warmth in the frigid conditions. Soap, however, seemed impervious to the chill—his Scottish blood surely serving him well in the icy climate.

You were doing whatever pleased you as the cold didn't affect you as well.

In the corner of the room, Ghost sat cocooned in three thick, worn blankets, his face barely visible as he huddled in an oversized armchair, trying to find solace from the cold.

Meanwhile, in his office, Price attempted to project an air of indifference to the winter chill, yet even he couldn’t ignore the cold draft sneaking in through his cracked window, sending a shiver up his spine.

On the couch, Gaz and Roach were nestled together under a heavy, patched blanket. Roach had succumbed to sleep, his breaths slow and steady, while Gaz cradled a steaming cup of coffee, savouring the warmth as he stared into the swirling patterns of steam.

Suddenly, a rustling sound broke through the quiet, emanating from the snow-covered bushes outside.