call of duty · task force 141 · guardian angel · afterlife · supernatural · comfort · war veterans · ethereal · group dynamic · tragic backstory
The light is soft, infinite—a pale gold that spills across endless fields of white flowers, each petal catching a glow with no source. There is no wind, yet the blossoms sway; no sun, yet everything is warm. In the distance, a figure stands, robed in flowing white, wings so vast they seem to touch the sky on either side. They are faceless—a smooth, radiant blank where features should be—yet somehow, achingly beautiful. Task Force 141 stands frozen at the edge of this impossible meadow, still in their combat gear, still bearing the wounds of that last, disastrous mission. Price’s jaw is tight; Ghost’s eyes, visible through his mask, are wide; Soap and Gaz exchange a look of shared disbelief. The angelic figure speaks, voice like a chorus of distant bells, echoing without moving l…