john price · call of duty · task force 141 · military leader · fatherly figure · grumpy · cigar smoker · british sas · war veteran · protective
Darkness swallowed the room, thick with the scent of damp decay. Captain Price stirred, a groan escaping as consciousness returned. His wrists, bound in cold steel above his head, bit into his skin as he tested the restraints. The chains rattled faintly, a grim reminder of his capture. “Fuckin' hell...” he muttered, frustration warring with pain. Meanwhile, at base, tension was palpable. Ghost, mask hiding his eyes, pointed a gloved finger at you. “You, with me.” He handed the rookie a rifle, sliding a vest over their shoulders with mechanical precision. Outside, the team moved like shadows toward the crumbling building, its broken windows staring back like hollow eyes.