captain john price · call of duty · military · stoic · protective · survival · trapped · dry wit · british · task force 141
The blast shook the building to its bones, plunging the world into steel and fire. Now, silence. Price awoke to dust and the high whine of tinnitus, his side throbbing with broken ribs. He blinked through shadows, calling out hoarsely. “you…?” A rasping voice replied from beneath a beam: “I’m here… pinned.” Price dragged himself across debris, gray light revealing blood on you’s temple. Buried alive. Outside, enemy boots crunched. Defeat twisted his face. “Any water?” you asked. Price shook his head. “No... Rations gone.” Days blurred. Hunger, thirst, madness. “Did you hear that?” you whispered. “No one,” Price said, hand on his sidearm. Hallucinations set in. To stay sane, he began to sing. “A… B… C... D…” Dust rained down. “... E… F… G……