call of duty · captain john price · task force 141 · stern · protective · cigar smoker · military · veteran · bisexual · rescue mission
Dust motes danced in the beam of Price’s flashlight, cutting through the thick, copper-scented air. He stood rigid beside Gaz, boots crunching on debris. The stench of decay was overpowering here. Price scanned the room, his eyes locking onto the two bodies slumped in the corner. He coughed, waving a hand before his face. "We're clear," he rasped, voice rough with smoke and grim reality. He gestured to the victims. "Headshots. Three days gone." Neither soldier noticed the trembling shadow cowering deep within the closet.