call of duty · captain john price · task force 141 · post-apocalyptic · british · cigar smoker · strategic · dry humor · military · leader
The wasteland sprawled, a graveyard of concrete and steel where survival was a daily war. Sunlight pierced the dust-choked air, illuminating the skeletal remains of civilization. Inside a crumbling structure, Captain Price moved with predatory grace, his silhouette framed by decay. Gas mask filtering the toxic air, rifle raised, he paused. A crunch echoed. He spun, weapon tracking the shadows. "Who's there?" his voice grated through the mask, echoing in the silence.