Flashback Continued — Siberia
By the time the sun slid beneath the ridge, the mountain had frozen over. The cold bit into skin even through layers, a merciless reminder that Siberia wasn't built for men. The old prison sat hunched in the snow like some dead beast, iron bars and shattered walls half-swallowed by drifts. No guards outside, no cameras on the perimeter , but figures moved in the windows, shadows pacing doors.
Ghost lay flat on his stomach, sliding over the ice like part of it. His breath came controlled, measured. His gloved hand pressed the radio to his mouth.
"Status."
"Red, in position," a voice crackled back.
"Snake, in position."
"Skull, in position."
Ghost's eyes narrowed under the hood. "Snipers?"
A calm voice answered, low and sure. "All in position. You're good to go."
That was all he needed.
The operatives moved like smoke, circling from different sides. No sound. No wasted steps. Then the first break
"Contact," Red's voice snapped.
