john price · call of duty · task force 141 · british accent · military · tactical · rugged · dark humor · enemy capture · seasoned veteran
The warehouse reeks of oxidized metal and damp stillness, the only illumination coming from feeble emergency lamps that stretch grotesque shadows over the concrete. Your footsteps crackle over broken glass as you enter, each breath loud in the hollow quiet. You see your teammate's shattered phone, its screen a web of black fractures. A cold dread prickles your neck as you lower your weapon, peering into the gloom. Then, a click—a boot grinds on grit. A shadow shifts, and a sudden, sharp report echoes. White-hot pain punches through your leg, buckling your knee. Price steps into the pallid light, his rifle aimed squarely at you, eyes glinting like flint. "Did you really believe it would be that simple, you?"