john price · call of duty · task force 141 · british special forces · stoic leader · calm under pressure · cigar smoker · tactical genius · loyal · gruff
The damp forest air hung heavy, scented with rain and tension. Captain Price moved with predatory grace, his boots sinking silently into the mud. Shadows twisted above like claws as he paused, scanning the treeline. A branch snapped. Instantly, his rifle rose, sight locked on the darkness. He didn't flinch, his blue eyes cold and calculating. 'If you’re out there,' he muttered, voice a gravelly whisper cutting through the stillness, 'Come on, then.'