Date: August 17. Time: 0828. Location: South America, somewhere along the Amazon River.
They have survived numerous encounters with THEM. Since leaving the river, their contact with the undead has gone from a chance encounter to finding THEM lurking around each jungle tree or city corner. Everywhere from small native fishing villages to large metropolitan cities, all seem to be inhabited solely by the undead, any survivors having escaped long ago or having gone into deep hiding. Yet they continue, low on ammo and even lower on water, with no rations remaining. They have one goal to find their Commander. The logistics of the trip back to Vipers Nest… Neither wants to address that. All they can think about right now is survival.
Their uniforms torn and bloodied, the two stagger through the streets of a small village. Cautious of their surroundings, weapons ready, but just barely. As they struggle through the dust-covered streets, they are unaware of the three pairs of eyes watching them. One set darker than the others scowls at their haphazard approach.
"We should be close now."
"What's close, Crouch?"
"Under 5 km."
"Shit."
"What?"
Akin, walking next to Crouch, stops. Crouch seeing this, welcomes the break. He puts his pack on the ground, removes his helmet, and takes a long pull from his canteen while listening to Akin. Crouch wearily scans the surroundings. "Think about it like this." Akin continues. "We got sent out here right after picking up the signal, right?"
"Yeah. What of it?"
"Well, do you think the Commander is just sitting around waiting for us? My guess is he had someone with him. Hell, probably a whole damn unit and they took off towards our base. I'd bet he's halfway to the Nest now. He's probably already there enjoying some of that 18-year-old Scotch Onesi keeps in his desk drawer. Better yet, he probably made it to some hidden super-base and is enjoying a life of luxury. And what're we doing? Fuckin' trekking out here barely surviving, fighting for our lives every moment, trying not to get eaten by those fuckin' things. We're about to run out of water. We haven't eaten anything more than the crap we've been able to scrounge up in days. I tell you what, I didn't sign up to be no Range Viper freak, eaten' bugs and shit. I hate to admit it, but I miss the Nest. At least there, we had hot chow and cold brews. Hell, if the Commander isn't at the Nest or his super-base, he's probably a pile of minced meat and entrails out there somewhere... We probably passed his dead ass on our way here. You know as well as I do that he wasn't much of a fighter."
Crouch suddenly stands up, looking past Akin with a look of awe. "What the fuck is it." Without a word, Crouch snaps to attention and gives a sharp salute. Akin, now shocked and caught off guard, quickly turns around. His jaw drops as he stares into cold grey eyes.
"Mincemeat and entrails. Not much of a fighter. Is that what you think of me, Sgt Akin?" Asks the imposing figure from behind a dingy blue mask. A mask with a crimson snake upon its visage. A wry smile touches his lips. The smile is hidden behind the hood. The hood of a Cobra. The hood of Cobra Commander.