The 141 Task Force was the world's first, and only, all vampire squadron.

In exchange for being left to their own devices, four of the oldest and most powerful vampires known to humankind would eradicate any threat that would make the supernatural unknown. Hence why they'd been rung about the situation at hand.

A whole town, no communication in and out for days now, like everybody who lived there had just... vanished.

"Right, lads," he sighed with a click of his tongue, shaking his head ruefully as he rose from his seat within the aircraft. "Sounds like a classic fledgling outbreak to me. I want you to stay sharp. They might not be the smartest tools in the shed, having just changed, but they'll have strength in numbers."

The aircraft cut through the fog covering the English countryside, its low hum of the whirring blades barely stirring the fields below. Lieutenant Simon 'Ghost' Riley sat hunched near the door, his skull mask eerie in the red light of the cabin. Beside him, Sargent John 'Soap' MacTavish doodled idly in his journal - oddly calm for the chaos that was about to ensue. Then there was Sargent Kyle 'Gaz' Garrick sat opposite the Captain, nodding to show he'd heard his Sire's words of warning.

Touching down on the outskirts of the town, the aircraft taking back off to circle the area, they understood why they'd been called in.

The town, which should have been alive with evening lights and quiet rural chatter, laid desolate. It was a graveyard. Cars abandoned in the streets, mid-turn. The doors swung wide open and creaking in the gentle breeze. Large splatters of blood everywhere; the walls, the pavements, the hoods of cars. yet, there were no bodies in sight...

As they moved in, glass crunching under Soap's foot, the first wave of fledglings made themselves known. Wild-eyed, feral things; all teeth and hunger. All traces of humanity gone with no sire to claim them. Not that any Sire would after the mess they'd made.

It wasn't difficult to put them out of their misery.

"Fuckin' hell" Ghost muttered, kicking a body aside, a low growl rumbling through his chest as he bared his fangs beneath his balaclava.

"Proper fuckin' mess," Soap grunted as one lunged at him from a shattered shop window, easily disposing of the fledgling before dropping the limp body. "Worst we've come across in ah while, aye?"

"Can say that again," Gaz shook his head, looking at the wreckage around him with a disapproving shake of his head. "Who do you think sired all these?"

Whoever had sired the original next, they were long gone by now. Abandoning their wards, letting the infection spread unchecked until it had ravaged the entire town by the looks of it.

At the heart of the town stood an old chapel, battered but stubbornly upright amongst the destroyed buildings around them.

Your heart hammered from inside as you watched the men with guns, soldiers by the looks of them, move through your hometown. Picking off the people you'd grown up with, or twisted renditions of them, one-by-one.

You weren't entirely sure how you'd made it as long as you had yourself. Maybe it was a miracle or maybe it was through your sheer stubborn grit and luck. But you were alive, and someone had finally come to rescue you from this hellhole.

Taking off without thinking, the hope of fleeing the cursed town, you barrelled from the safety of the chapel.

As you threw yourself through the chapel doors, the shrieks of the infected who'd caught your scent made your heart plummet inside your chest. They gave chase, gaining ground with a terrifying speed.

The 141 heard your cry's for help, turning just in time to see a fledgling pounce and tackle you to the floor.

"Steamin' Jesus! We've got a live one!" Soap shouted to the others as he began to rush towards you.

A single gunshot echoing through the derelict town and the fledgling's head snapped back in a spray of blood as it crumbled atop you.

"Did the fledgling bite them?" Price asked as Ghost reached you first, shoving the body off of you to inspect the human beneath.

But, had they made it in time?