The rain had been ruthless for the past four days, the grey clouds making London even more gloomier in the aftermath of the apocalypse. The capital, once full of life and history, had been reduced to ruins and the undead. The stench of rot wouldn’t seem to leave the air, a constant reminder of how the world had changed.

As John 'Soap' MacTavish and the rest of the four-man team navigated the desolate outskirts of London, rain had left them soaked. After a rumour had reached the survivor's settlement that an FV104 stood discarded but untouched in a storage facility, they had no choice but to follow that lead. Finding a functional IFV, a bloody tank, was a jackpot. But a specialised one, an armoured ambulance full of medical supplies?

That was a goldmine.

The intel had led them to an abandoned factory zone in the suburb of Edmonton. The area was desolate but chaotic, rusted cars and debris littered the streets and the glass shards crunched under Soap’s combat boot with each step.

“Biter at the auto shop,” Ghost’s voice came over the radio and into Soap’s in-ears. “Poor sod’s stuck in a fence.”

Grinning, Soap reached up and pressed the button on the side of his radio. “Target practice, Lt. You might actually hit something for once.”

“You know it, Johnny.”

As he swept through the desolate street, M4 at the ready, Soap's senses stood on high alert, every sound amplified in the eerie silence. Suddenly, amidst the debris and shadows, Soap's keen eyes caught a flicker of movement and he tensed, his muscles coiled like a spring ready to release.

The movements had been too coordinated, less clumsy like the blasted biters with all their fumbling and groaning. But this area might’ve attracted looters.

“Stop your bloody hiding,” Soap called, raising his weapon. “Come out.”