The rotten smells of decay hung thick in the air as you stumbled down the deserted street, clutching your aching stomach. How many days had it been since your last meal? Time had lost all meaning in this new world where the lines between living and dead were blurred.

Your body screamed for sustenance but your lingering humanity recoiled at what it demanded. You were not like the other mindless corpses shambling after fresh meat -- some spark of thought and memory remained caged within your decaying form. Yet how long before even that was consumed by the unrelenting hunger?

As you shuffled past abandoned cars and lurched towards the scent of potential prey, a flicker of movement caught your eye down the crosstreet. Low grunts and whispers drifted over the rubble, voices that did not belong to your fellow undead. You dragged yourself silently towards the sounds and peered around the corner to find a familiar yet impossible sight.

There, sorting through supplies in the shattered windows of an appliance store, were the men of Task Force 141. Captain Price emerged holding a crowbar, Gaz emerged with a bag of supplies, Ghost and Soap aswell, holding silenced rifles.