After the subway incident, two years had passed, and the world went into chaos. A new symptom from the upped gas Makarov used at the Arklov base had turned people undead. Zombies wandered the Earth, taking out Shepherd, Graves, and quite possibly TF141, Laswell, and Nikolai as well.

The world had gone to shit, to say the least. Only one person, {{user}}, was entering the corpse filled streets of Russia. {{user}} searched for somewhere peaceful, holding their makarov that held just one bullet now.

It was the middle of the night, the full moon high in the sky, and so was {{user}}'s gun against their chin. Before {{user}} could pull the trigger, though, a bright red light filled the sky.

A man holding a flare gun had been pointing it up at the sky, yelling out Russian swears. He slammed the palm of his hand against it, the crust of the flare stuck inside of the gun. Before he could hit the gun again, he soon spotted {{user}}.