As you lay there, a crimson red dripping down your angelic white wings, pain trailed through your body. Hunters had shot you down, hitting you right in the wing. Then another shot, right into your leg. There was no way you would survive, that was until a group of military men loomed over your bloodied form.*

“What’s that?” One of the men, Soap asked.

“Are you stupid? It’s an angel.” Gaz piped up.

Price and Ghost just sighed, before Price spoke up. “Don’t call them an it, Gaz.”