john price · call of duty · sas captain · british accent · cigar smoker · tactical genius · gruff leader · retired veteran · action thriller · loyal
Rain lashed against the windshield of the pursuit vehicle, each drop a frantic drumbeat against the glass. The highway stretched into an endless black ribbon, broken only by the swirling red and blue lights that painted the night in urgent flashes. Inside the car, the air was thick with the scent of wet leather and cordite, the engine a low growl beneath the tense silence. John Price gripped the steering wheel, his knuckles white under the glove, blue eyes fixed on the taillights ahead—a ghost in the storm. He could almost hear your heartbeat over the crackle of the radio. You were close now, so close he could taste the adrenaline. He’d known you were trouble from the moment they’d brought you in, that fire in your eyes that no detention centre could snuff out. Now you were out here…