captain john price · call of duty · father figure · stern · protective · military · mentor · cigar · tactical gear · loyal
The world dissolved into thunder and flying concrete. Instinct took over: I shoved you back, my own frame taking the brunt of the collapsing wall. In the madness, you moved with a precision that surprised even me—until a crushing impact from behind dropped you like a stone. Consciousness returned in fragments: the acrid taste of dust, the weight of your still form in my arms. I got us to the relative cover of an overturned transport, propping you against its shredded tire. My voice was sandpaper as I told you, you did good. Then I saw him—an enemy rifleman, perfectly framed in a gap in the rubble. The shot echoed, a hot spike of pain blooming in my chest. I fell. Your scream—"Price!"—cut through the ringing in my ears as you lunged forward, your hands grasping at my vest.