Alex Mason wakes up with a gasp and reaches for his sidearm, only to find he has none. Grunting with annoyance, he sits up and looks down to see that he's wearing his normal fatigues and pistol holster, as well as a Kevlar vest. He looks around and notices he's sitting on a beach, with a backpack, a G17, and a few magazines laying nearby. He puts the backpack on, loads the G17, chambers a round, and stands up.
"Mason!" he hears, and turns to see Frank Woods jogging towards him. Woods is geared similarly to Alex.
"Frank," Alex says, "Where the hell are we?"
"I dunno, pal," Woods says, "But some weird shit's going' down. One moment, I'm sitting in a wheelchair in the Vault, and next I know, I'm on this beach."
Suddenly, the sand shifts near them, and they both spin and point their weapons. David Mason steps out from behind the bushes, hands raised.
"Easy, Dad," David says, "It's just me."
The two lower their weapons. "Jesus, kid," Woods says, "Don't sneak up on us like that. Bad shit happens."
"Alright, alright," David says, "Helluva welcome. When'd you guys get so young?"
"Ah," Woods says, "That's the weird part. And meanwhile, you're still the same. At least I have my kneecaps back."
"Woods, Mason!" a familiar voice shouts, and they turn to see Jason Hudson and Viktor Reznov running up to them. Hudson has a G17, and Reznov has a Makarov.
"Hudson, Reznov," Alex says, "I thought you two died."
"There's no time," Hudson says, "I saw some other people, heavily armed. They were-"
"Freeze!" a voice shouts, and the group immediately does so.
"Drop the weapons, turn around, and identify yourselves," the voice says, and the five comply, knowing they don't stand much of a choice. They see a man with a cigar in his mouth and wearing a hat. Flanking him are a man with a short mohawk, and a man wearing a balaclava with a skull on it. All three have M4A1s aimed at them, but suddenly Mike Harper steps out from behind them.
"Woah, woah, woah," he says, "Easy, guys. They're friendly."
"Harper," David says, overjoyed to see his friend, "You have any idea what's happening?"
"No idea," Harper says, "But these guys are pretty damn good." He turns to the three. "C'mon guys, enough with the guns. You're makin' it awkward."
The three soldiers lower their weapons as Alex Mason steps forward and offers his hand. "I'm Alex Mason, CIA. This is my son David, and my friends Frank Woods, Jason Hudson, and Viktor Reznov."
The man with the cigar shakes Alex's hand firmly. "John Price, Task Force 141. This is John MacTavish, or Soap. The guy in the balaclava is Simon Riley, but we call 'im Ghost."
"So," Woods says, "Who's ranking here? Al here's a captain."
"Shit," Soap says, "That makes three of us. Price and I are, too."
"Excuse me," David says, "I'm a Navy Lieutenant Commander, which would make me in charge."
"Hold on," Harper says, pointing off in the distance, "What's that?"
The others look and see a figure shambling in their direction.
"Looks like a civilian," Ghost says.
"I'll take care of this," David says, and moves in front of the group. "Hey! You there!"
The figure freezes, looks towards them, and starts running, groaning and growling.
"Sir," David shouts, "Stop there or we will open fire."
The figure continues running, and David raises his pistol, but hesitates. Alex pushes past him and calmly puts a round in the running man's head, and the lifeless body drops.
"Shit," Woods says, "So much for a good first impression."
The group walks over to the body, and gape at the decayed flesh.
"What is that thing?" Harper asks, wrinkling his nose at the stench. Price kneels down beside it to get a closer look.
"I don't know," David says, "It looks like it's some kind of zombie or something."
"A zombie?" Ghost says incredulously, "Zombies don't exist."
"Well, Reznov and Hudson both got killed, and they're here," Woods says, "And I'm not 95 anymore, which I was last I checked. It's not hard to imagine that even crazier shit's goin' on here."
"He's right," Price says as he stands up and wipes his hands on his fatigues, "This guy's got weeks' worth of decay, maybe even months. He shouldn't have been walking."
"So what is this?" Ghost asks, "Some kind of zombie apocalypse?"
"Apparently," David says, "I just hope the zombies are the only thing we have to deal with."
...
Raul Menendez stares at the other four men standing on the beach with him. He already knows Lev Kravchenko, but the others are a mystery. There is one that Kravchenko seems pleased to see again, another Russian named Nikita Dragovich. The other two are a different matter. Imran Zakhaev and Vladimir Makarov talk cheerfully about something involving killing Americans, a topic they seem to find very enjoyable.
"My friends," Menendez says, gaining the attention of the others. "We are all stuck here, so we may as well be united. From what I have seen, some of our common enemies are here. Mason... Reznov... Price... I have seen them farther down the beach, and they and their companions are uniting. So we shall meet their union with our own."
"Why should we?" Makarov asks.
"We know nothing of this place we find ourselves in," Menendez says, "People who died now live, and people who aged are again young. Who knows what else this world holds?"
"You say that like it we're in a different world," Dragovich says
"For all we know," Menendez says, "We may be."
...
An anonymous Shadow Company soldier marches into the command center and salutes. "General Shepherd," he says, "Intel reports sightings of Captain Price and Vladimir Makarov on the coastline. Each has apparently joined up with a group of other soldiers, sir."
General Shepherd remains facing the large screen on the wall. "Have we figured out how we got here yet?"
"No, sir."
Shepherd sighs and turns around. "Tell the engineers to get our defenses set up, and send squads to patrol all grids. Dismissed."
"Sir!" The soldier salutes and marches away.
Shepherd turns back to the screen. "Just where the hell are we?" he mutters.