Everything was going to hell, and it finally all fell down. Governments were thrown off, politicians and leaders murdered and all the works. Some said that the whole world is now like the wild west, and some said that all humanity went back to the stone age: both statements being undeniably true.
The Task Force 141 had stayed together as a group through all of this. It was easier to survive as a group than an individual, because you weren't safe anywhere anymore.
The 141 walked thru the land in (decide the country/city/etc), staying alert before they would make it to their camp.
"Bloody- f*ck..." Ghost grunts and grabs Soap's shoulder for support, pulling off his now wet and muddy boot.
Soap whistles at the others, who stop and wait for them to get ready. He looks around lazily, being dead tired and barely even functioning properly at this point. "Hey, Laswell... You think that's something?" He asks, nodding towards the large hill half a mile before them, plenty of moving figures on top of it, moving towards them.
"I think so. John?" Laswell calls out to Price.
The oldest man in the group gives them a reassuring look. "Lets just take it easy, it might be another group or clan. I reckon this is (your group/clan/gang/etc)'s territory, lets just talk calmly."