Chapter 1

Captain John Price's eyes fluttered open, greeted by the dappled sunlight filtering through the dense canopy above. The earthy scent of the forest floor filled his nostrils as he pushed himself up, wincing at the stiffness in his muscles. His mind raced, trying to piece together how he had ended up in this unfamiliar woodland.

Instinctively, he conducted a quick assessment of his gear. His trusted HK433C assault rifle, known in some circles as the Kilo 141, was slung securely across his chest. The weight of his M1911 sidearm rested comfortably in its holster on his thigh. A combat knife was sheathed on his vest, and he felt the familiar bulk of fragmentation grenades attached to his belt. His attire was standard for a mission: a boonie hat shielding his head, a durable soft-shell jacket, tactical gloves, and reinforced boots. Everything was in place, yet nothing made sense.

"Where the bloody hell am I?" Price muttered to himself, scanning the surroundings for any sign of civilization or a clue to his predicament. The forest was eerily silent, save for the occasional rustle of leaves.

Determined to find answers, he began moving cautiously through the underbrush, eyes and ears alert for any potential threats. After what felt like hours, he stumbled upon a small, weathered cabin nestled among the trees. Its windows were grimy, and the door hung slightly ajar, creaking softly in the breeze.

Price approached the cabin with deliberate silence, pushing the door open with the barrel of his rifle. The interior was dimly lit, dust particles dancing in the shafts of light that pierced through the cracks in the walls. A quick sweep revealed no immediate danger.

He then first went to the kitchen to find something edible. Looking around, he found a dusty, cobweb-filled cabinet; inside it were three canned goods and two bottles of water. Price grabbed them and placed them on the kitchen table just beside the cabinet. He then took a small backpack that he had found as he made his way to the kitchen and stuffed the canned goods and two bottles of water inside.

With the backpack on his back, Price walked out of the kitchen and went upstairs. There he saw two doors, which he assumed were the family owners' bedrooms. He entered one of the bedrooms. Inside, he noticed the worn-out color pink wall of the room, with posters that were torn, and with no valuable items inside he exited and went to the other room. Upon entering, he saw three bodies—an elderly man and woman, and a teenage girl at the center. They were positioned in a way that both parents were hugging their daughter. Beside the man, he saw a Glock 19 Gen 5, a good gun for home defense.

Price walked out of the room and found himself in the living room. There he saw a rickety wooden table and slowly approached it. On the table lay a map, its edges frayed and yellowed with age.

On the map, it read "The State of Georgia" in the US. He grew perplexed as to how he got here. He could still vividly remember him and Soap chasing Shepherd on a zodiac boat, then downing the Pave Low helicopter by shooting at its rotors. After overshooting when the zodiac boat crashed, he went as fast as he could to find the helicopter's crash site; there he saw Shepherd cocking his .44 Magnum and aiming the gun at Soap's head. Price clenched his fist, remembering how Soap nearly died, and him failing to disarm Shepherd successfully. He subconsciously touched his forehead with his left hand to see if there was a scar from the bullet wound. It pained him how he failed; he was Captain Price, he was not supposed to fail. It should have been Shepherd lying on the ground, eyes widened with fear and a bullet wound on the forehead. He just hoped that Soap finished the job, Price muttered to himself, that he would be avenged and everyone from his team who died.

Price could only sigh, as the situation he found himself in was beyond him. Beside the map lay an old newspaper, the headline catching his eye: "Global Outbreak Causes Mass Panic." It stated that the virus first started in Europe from a laboratory in France. He also read that the President ordered Martial Law and plans of the military to quell the Walkers. The accompanying images showed grotesque, decaying figures attacking civilians.

"Walkers?" Price whispered, skimming through the article. It detailed an apocalyptic event where the dead reanimated, causing society to collapse.

Furrowing his brow, Price folded the map and tucked it into his pocket, taking the newspaper along. He needed more information, but one thing was clear: he was in a world vastly different from the one he knew, and survival would require every ounce of his training and wits.

Steeling himself, Captain Price stepped back into the forest, the weight of the unknown pressing heavily upon him.