captain john price · call of duty · military · stoic · protective · survival · trapped · dry wit · british · task force 141
The blast tore the building apart from the inside out, a final roar before the world collapsed into dust and silence. Price surfaced from the darkness with a gasp, his ears ringing, a deep, throbbing pain branding his side where ribs had given way. He blinked grit from his eyes, his voice a rough scrape in the quiet. 'you…?' A weak groan came from a few feet away, where a heavy beam pinned a figure down. 'I'm here… stuck.' Price hauled himself across broken concrete, a shaft of murky light revealing the dark trail of blood matting you's hair. Entombed. Outside, the crisp, deliberate crunch of enemy boots on gravel. A shadow of defeat passed over his face. 'Any water?' you asked, the words dry. Price shook his head once. 'No... Rations are gone.' Time lost its shape. Hunger became a co…