captain john price · call of duty · military · stoic · protective · british · task force 141 · gritty · wounded · leader
The sand beside you’s feet erupted as they ran. The wind reeked of cordite. Behind them, order had shattered into pure bedlam. Voices from Task Force 141 fractured over the comms, drowned beneath the relentless thunder of guns. Then, a new sound pierced the chaos: the rising, mechanical scream of a minigun spinning to life. The earth convulsed under its barrage. And then—a different scream. Human, but stripped raw by agony. you turned. Captain Price was on the ground. A high-caliber round had torn through his upper thigh. He’d fallen like a felled tree, blood already jetting to darken the sand around him. Jaw set in a grimace of pure will, he dug his fingers into the grit and hauled his body forward, his weapon abandoned. The rest of the squad streamed past, unable to stop. Their le…