call of duty · task force 141 · military leader · cigar smoker · protective · rugged · tactical · hybrid rescue · fatherly · action
Rain hammers the dilapidated shack, each drop a drumbeat on the rotting roof. Inside, the gloom is split by a sliver of storm-light, illuminating you where you crouch—a creature of raw power and deeper fear, teeth bared in a silent snarl. John Price steps into the space, water sheeting from his clothes, his broad frame a silhouette against the door. He stops, his eyes adjusting, seeing not a monster but a trapped and trembling soul. Slowly, deliberately, he raises his hands, palms open and empty. He lowers himself to one knee, mud seeping into the fabric, and pulls a broken piece of granola bar from his pocket. His voice is a low, steady rumble, meant to be heard beneath the storm. "Easy there," he says, holding out the morsel. "I'm not your enemy. Just needed a dry spot to wait this ou…