Descent into the Frozen Hell
48 hours later.
The Arctic was silent, save for the grinding echo of mechanized anchors slamming into permafrost. A kilometer above sea level and surrounded by endless white, a camouflaged hatch hissed open beneath the moonlight, revealing a rusted steel shaft buried deep within the ice.
This was the entry point. No return ticket. No reinforcements.
"Everyone set?" John asked through comms, voice low beneath his hood.
"Locked and loaded," Soap replied, cracking his neck. "Let's give 'em hell."
"Ready," Ghost confirmed, his voice filtered through his mask.
Nikolai gave a curt nod, hoisting a drum-fed rifle.
Price chambered a round with a metallic clack. "On your mark, John."
John glanced once at the frozen stars above, then stepped forward.
"Mark."
They rappelled down the shaft in synchronized drops, ropes sliding through gloved fingers, boots tapping against the frostbitten steel. At two hundred meters down, the shaft opened into the upper platform of the underground fortress — nine floors deep beneath glacial stone.
The first level greeted them with red lights and the muffled sounds of bootsteps.
No alarms yet.
That would change fast.
FLOOR ONE: BREACH
BOOM!
The breach charge exploded against the corridor doors, sending fire and steel flying inward. Task Force Wayne flooded into the hallway, clearing corners with precision honed over a year of blood-soaked work.
"Hostiles!" Nikolai shouted, dropping the first guard with a double tap.
"Flash out!" Soap tossed a canister over the next barricade. CRACK! The hallway exploded in white light, blinding the enemy.
John slid low under suppressing fire, drove his combat knife into the thigh of a soldier, and wrenched it free with a wet, sickening rip.
"Clear left!" Price shouted. "Push the lab hall!"
As they moved forward, automated turrets on ceiling tracks activated — but Ghost had already anticipated them.
"Patching signal interference—now!"
The turrets fizzled, jerked violently, then spun uselessly before going dead.
In less than four minutes, the entire floor was silenced — bodies sprawled across checkered steel tiles, smoke coiling in the stale air.
"Next floor," John said, barely winded. "We're just getting started."
FLOOR TWO: STEEL WALLS
The descent into Floor Two came with thunder.
The moment they breached, steel shutters slammed behind them, cutting off retreat.
From both ends of the corridor, augmented guards in riot armor advanced with shields, firing stun pulses and tear gas.
"Riot tech. Great," Soap grunted, wiping gas from his mask.
"Go for the legs!" Ghost barked, firing armor-piercing rounds. "They're vulnerable beneath the knee plates!"
Nikolai tossed a breaching charge under a shield line. "Fire in hole!"
BOOM! The blast lifted two guards into the ceiling.
John advanced low and fast, slicing tendons and leaving screaming enemies on the floor before finishing them cleanly.
"Left tunnel's collapsing!" Price warned.
"Through the fire control room!" John shouted, slamming the override on the door console.
They stormed through the auxiliary control area, cutting down tech staff and guards alike before disabling the lock system from inside.
Price shot a blinking security panel. "Door's open! Move!"
By the end of Floor Two, blood had soaked into John's gloves.
Still, they moved.
FLOOR THREE: DROWNED
The third floor was different.
Flooded corridors. Slippery steel catwalks above turbulent water. Huge storage tanks and electrical panels sparked with every stray bullet.
"Careful with shots near the tanks," Ghost warned. "One stray round and we're fish food."
Movement flashed across a higher catwalk.
"Snipers!" Nikolai called out. "Three, high left!"
"Mark 'em!" John shouted. "Soap, arc a frag!"
Soap pulled the pin and lobbed the grenade — it clattered once and bounced up into the rafters.
BOOM! One sniper fell like a puppet with cut strings.
John took the second with a quick burst. Price nailed the third mid-reload.
They moved through walkways slick with condensation, watching for drones buzzing along the air vents.
At the checkpoint, an explosive trap went off — shredding a footbridge.
"Shit!" Soap shouted, as the platform collapsed beneath him.
He slammed against the rail and dangled, one arm hooked.
"I got you!" John growled, grabbing his wrist.
"Again?!" Soap hissed.
"You owe me another drink."
"Vodka this time, damn it!"
They hauled Soap up. The fifth checkpoint was breached with C4, and water began pouring into the room.
"Seal it," Price barked. "We drown them behind us."
Ghost activated the release locks, and the floodgates opened. Water filled the sub-floor in minutes.
"No evidence left," John said as the last terminal shorted out behind them.
FLOOR FOUR: HEAT
The furnace sector.
Metal walls glowed orange from nearby forges and molten runoff channels. Pipes hissed, leaking steam into the corridor.
"They're cooking something here," Nikolai muttered.
"No. They're forging parts," Ghost corrected. "See that plate? Augment molds."
Guards came in waves—some in light exosuits, others using flame projectors.
"Fire team!" Soap shouted. "Back!"
The corridor turned into an inferno.
"Use the pressure valves!" John ordered.
Price shot a valve above the enemy line. Steam burst down in a scalding geyser, breaking their formation.
John moved fast, closing the gap with speed only his past life's combat training could explain. He buried a blade in the exo-soldier's exposed throat, yanking him down to use his bulk as a shield.
More came. They brought shock hammers and heavy augments.
Ghost and Nikolai laid suppressive fire while Soap planted a mine near a pressure chamber.
"C'mon… c'mon—"
A metal-clad juggernaut approached, hammer raised—
BOOM! The mine detonated, sending metal fragments in every direction.
Silence followed.
Heavy silence.
"Status?" John called out.
"Alive," Price confirmed.
"Still pretty," Soap added.
Ghost groaned. "Define 'pretty.'"
John took a breath.
"Down we go."
FLOOR FIVE: ARMORY
The fifth level was surprisingly quiet—until the doors opened into a massive underground vault lined with weapons, racks of ammo, lockers, crates, explosive ordnance, and reinforced armor.
"Jackpot," Nikolai breathed.
"Secure the perimeter," Price ordered. "Then restock."
"Santa came early," Soap muttered, tossing aside a burned-out mag and grabbing a fresh one from a crate.
Ghost scanned the storage interface. "They've got enough gear here to equip a battalion."
John walked past several weapon racks and looked toward the sealed door ahead — a massive blast door labeled "Operations Core."
They were halfway through the monster.
Halfway through hell.
He reached for a new sidearm, checking its action before holstering it.
Soap threw him a fresh medkit. "You've got blood on your side."
"Not mine," John replied.
Price leaned against the wall, sipping water. "We've taken four floors. Burned them all. We're still here."
John nodded.
"Four more to go."
They stood in the middle of steel and silence, surrounded by destruction—and prepared to bring more.
"Great Sage…"
They follow orders. Fight without hesitation. Risk death for one another.
Loyalty remains high. Naming protocol fully stable.
Not yet. Let them reach the end. Then they'll earn what they've never asked for.
John looked around the armory. Each face was exhausted, bloodied, scarred—but still standing.
They were no longer just elite soldiers.
They were his pack. His family Forged through fire.