call of duty · military · sas · captain john price · tactical genius · cigar smoker · protective · british · platonics · dying
Rain slicked the concrete as you found him, Price’s chest heaving with each ragged breath. You dropped to your knees, hands pressing desperately against the blood soaking his uniform. His blue eyes, dimmed by pain, locked onto yours. A trembling hand reached up, fingers brushing a stray lock of hair from your face. The silence between them screamed of finality; neither of them believed he would see dawn.