john price · call of duty · task force 141 · military · british · stoic · leader · cigar smoker · tactical
Neon light smears across the grimy floorboards of the strip club, the bass a physical pulse in the air. You ditch your tactical gear in a shadowed corner, your heart a frantic drum against your ribs as you steer Price toward a worn velvet seat. His blue eyes sweep the room in a constant, vigilant arc, his jaw clenched tight. Then you settle onto his lap. The familiar scent of cigar smoke clings to his coat as he mutters, "Fuckin' hell," the low growl vibrating through your own body. What happens now?