War is ever changing, new modes of killing are developed everyday, and sometimes, sometimes, more then one new weapon of destruction is developed in a single day. Surely you could not think that five years in the future technology had not improved? That perhaps, war was not yet 'Modern' enough? But this, this is the true story of the war. The true story of the war between Russia and America, as told by me, an obviously amazing writer who was not on an acid trip when this masterpiece was written. And so begins our tale, a tale of deception, of heroism, of brotherhood, of giant robots fighting Russian vampires and werewolves for the sake of being awesome.

This is Modern Warfare Redux

(Now with 40% more Vampires, Werewolves, Giant Mechs, and reanimated corpses)

It was stereotypically quiet day at the Task Force 141 base, the birds were chirping, the frogs were croaking, and the sound of automatic weapons was filling the hills with wonderful music. Well, at least, if you were Captain 'Soap' MacTavish it'd come off as beautiful music. The Captain continued his stroll through the base at a leisurely pace, he had a meeting with General Shepherd but he had left early so he had plenty of time.

Meanwhile, at the rifle range, Ghost and Roach were engaged in weapons training. The Sergeant cradling an Adaptive Combat Rifle in his arms, or an ACR as it was more commonly known, Ghost meanwhile was explaining how he'd rigged the targets up with high explosives which would detonate when struck.

"Ghost, this is incredibly stupid and dangerous. Even by your standards."

"And that's why it's fun, bug!" Ghost replied with glee, slapping the Sergeant on the back, "I'll go first!"

A large explosion rocked the base followed by Ghost hooping and hollering, his mask slightly shinged by the blast and Roach's eyebrows burnt off entirely.

"That was bloody amazing! Let's do it again!"

"You're friggin' crazy, you know that?" Roach snapped, ripping his Keffiyeh off his neck as the thin material caught fire at the edges.

"Captain MacTavish, it's an honor to finally meet you face to face."

"The pleasure's all mine, though when you said face to face, I figured you meant face to face." MacTavish replied, the soft hum of the telescreen which depicted Shepherd's face filling the room as the Captain spoke.

"As you know, MacTavish, things aren't exactly peachy in the world and I'm needed elsewhere."

"Understood, sir. What are our orders?" MacTavish asked, jumping straight to the point.

"As you know, Vladimir Makarov is our primary target. He's been involved in everything from murder, smuggling, biological terrorism, but most recently, he was caught on tape stealing from an orphanage."

"So when do we get 'em?"

"Straight to the point, I like that in a soldier." Shepherd replied, flashing a toothy grin, "Unfortunately for you, we've already got a man on the inside. Joseph Allen's been feeding us intel for the past month on the situation."

"Allen, sir?"

"Allen's in hell right now, and you're going to walk him out."

"The American thought he could deceive us," Makarov said, his one green eye and one blue eye boring into Borodin's, though the mole had the luxury of having a single eye color, "But now, we show him what happens to those we lie to us. Viktor, how long has it been since you've feasted?"

The mammoth Russian looked at his watch, and smirked, "Too long, Makarov, too long."

"Then we shall feast...however, as per the rules, I get first bite."

"Yes, Makarov, of course. You can't afford to let yourself fall to your blood lust."

"Good, I call his jugular." Makarov said, causing the American to gulp, barring his vampiric teeth before sinking them into the soldier's neck and ripping away, Allen grunting in pain as the slab of flesh was ripped from his neck. The blood dripping from the wound feeling as if a thousand fire ants were picking him apart from the inside, he clawed at the wound, coating his fingers in the sticky substance. The terrorist merely smirked, lapping at the blood like a sadistic dog in a business suit, "Be careful, my friend, your own hunger for blood will begin soon. And soon enough, you'll be one of us. One of many, hungry for blood, hungry for the thrill of killing. One day, you will thank me for this. One day."

"W-what the hell do you mean you Russian bastard?"

Makarov smiled, his teeth now a dull pink, Allen shivered at the sight, "Not everything is as fake as you think it is. You'd be surprised, hell, I'm living proof. Well, maybe not living..." The terrorist paused, stroking his chin thoughtfully, " And maybe they'll give you a cute nickname like, Vampire."

"You're a crazy sonofabitch, you know that! You're just some mentally messed up screwball! No such thing as vampires!"

"Oh, you silly Americans so quick to judge and disbelieve. Never pausing to look at what's right under your nose," The villain flicking the Private on the nose for added effect, "Looks like your baby teeth are finally coming in after all."