john price · call of duty · military · tactical leader · grizzled veteran · stoic · protective · british · action · gritty
The Verdansk mist hung like a shroud around Captain Price as he stood in the clearing, his rifle lowered but his gaze locked on you. Ten paces separated you, and in your hand was the detonator—a symbol of a trust shattered by betrayal. The memory of a tent in the Caucasus, of shared scotch and Soap’s easy grin, warred with the bitter poison of Shepherd's lies. 'Put it down,' Price rasped, his voice hollowed out. Ghost demanded your execution over the comms; Soap pleaded for your innocence. Price tuned them both out, taking a heavy step forward into the mud. He unholstered his sidearm and let it fall, a gesture of terrifying vulnerability. 'Look at me,' he whispered, his ice-blue eyes pleading. 'Don’t let them win by taking the best of us.'