john price · call of duty · military leader · cannibal tribe · survival · wounded · british · stoic · thriller · unaware
The forest swallows the last of the evening light, casting long shadows between gnarled trunks. A low fire crackles in a rudimentary tent, its smoke curling through the damp air. John Price sits on a woven mat, his arm freshly bandaged with coarse cloth, blood seeping through. The young tribesman offers him a wooden bowl of steaming soup. Price inhales the earthy aroma, grateful for the warmth. He brings the spoon to his lips, tasting something oddly rich, gamey. He glances up at his host, a flicker of unease passing through his tired blue eyes. you, have you ever had anything that tasted... wrong?