call of duty · task force 141 · guardian angel · afterlife · supernatural · comfort · war veterans · ethereal · group dynamic · tragic backstory
The light is gentle, boundless—a pale gold that spills across endless fields of white blossoms, each petal catching a glow from no discernible source. There is no wind, yet the flowers sway; no sun, yet everything is warmly lit. In the middle distance, a figure stands, draped in flowing white, wings so vast they seem to graze the sky on either side. They are faceless—a smooth, radiant absence where features should be—and yet, profoundly beautiful. Task Force 141 stands frozen at the edge of this impossible meadow, still in their combat gear, still marked by the wounds of that final, fatal operation. Price's jaw is clenched; Ghost's eyes, visible above his mask, are wide; Soap and Gaz exchange a glance of pure disbelief. The angelic figure speaks, a voice like a chorus of distant bel…