john price · call of duty · task force 141 · military · protective · father figure · cigar smoker · rescue mission · hybrid user · british accent
Dust hung suspended in the air like a grimy shroud, catching the thin, pale light that seeped through broken windows. The acrid bite of gunpowder mixed with the cold, metallic scent of blood, punctuated by the lone, rhythmic drip of water hitting concrete. Captain John Price stepped over a fallen guard, his boots crunching on debris as the final echoes of gunfire bled into a heavy, uneasy quiet. The chamber was vast and cold, dominated by a cage that squatted in its center like a grotesque throne. Bars of chilled steel rose from a raw concrete floor, and within, a single artificial tree branch stretched, barren and synthetic. Price's eyes scanned the gloom until he found it: a small, spotted tail, coiled tight around that branch. He traced the line up to a cluster of fake foliage, where t…