Wraith | Ghost

12. Descent

The days following the failed mission at the industrial complex were heavy with frustration and tension. We had been so close—closer than we'd ever been—and yet Makarov had slipped through our fingers once again. The weight of our failure hung over the team like a dark cloud, and the sense of urgency had become a suffocating presence, pressing down on us with each passing moment.

For me, the failure was more than just another setback. It was a reminder of the ticking clock, of the secrets I carried, and the growing realization that my pursuit of Makarov was leading me down a dangerous path. The files I had hidden away in the safehouse gnawed at me, the weight of their contents a constant reminder that the longer I kept them secret, the more isolated I became from the team.

But I couldn't bring myself to share them. Not yet. Not when Makarov was still out there, and not when I was the only one who truly understood what was at stake. My parents had been close—so close—to uncovering the full extent of Makarov's plans, and now, it was up to me to finish what they had started.

The team sensed that something was off. Ghost, in particular, had become more vigilant, watching me with an intensity that made it clear he wasn't convinced by my assurances. The tension between us had grown sharper, more palpable, and every conversation felt like a balancing act, a delicate dance of words and hidden truths.

Despite this, we pushed forward, diving headfirst into our next mission. We had received new intel, this time placing Makarov in a remote mountainous region near the Russian border. The location was isolated, difficult to reach, and far from any signs of civilization—perfect for someone like Makarov to hide and operate out of sight.

The mission briefing was tense. Price laid out the plan with his usual precision, but there was an underlying current of frustration in his voice, a reflection of the strain we were all feeling.

"We can't afford to let him slip away again," Price said, his voice tight. "This is a high-risk op, but we're going in with everything we've got. We'll hit hard, fast, and we don't stop until we have him."

Soap nodded, his expression grim. "What's the backup plan if he tries to pull another disappearing act?"

"There isn't one," Price replied, his tone brooking no argument. "This is it. We get him this time, or we don't come back."

The weight of his words settled over us like a heavy blanket. There was no room for error, no margin for failure. We had to get Makarov—no matter the cost.

As we prepared for the mission, I felt the familiar cold steel of resolve harden within me. I couldn't afford to be distracted, not now. Makarov was within reach, and this time, I was determined to see it through to the end.

–

We deployed under the cover of night, the sky a blanket of darkness punctuated only by the faint glimmer of stars. The helicopter's rotors cut through the cold mountain air, the landscape below us a jagged terrain of snow-covered peaks and deep valleys. The target was a small, heavily fortified compound nestled in a secluded valley—a place that seemed almost impossible to reach by conventional means.

As the helicopter approached the drop zone, I checked my gear for the last time, my movements automatic. My mind was focused on the task ahead, every nerve on edge, every instinct honed to a razor's edge. This was it—the moment we had been waiting for.

Price's voice crackled over the comms, breaking the tense silence. "We're coming up on the LZ. Get ready."

We nodded in unison, our faces set in grim determination. The helicopter hovered above the drop zone, and one by one, we rappelled down into the snow, the cold biting at our exposed skin. The wind howled around us, whipping up the snow in a blinding flurry as we hit the ground.