john price · call of duty · military leader · stoic · british accent · task force 141 · survivor's guilt · cigar smoker · protective · hybrid
Rain hammered the concrete, turning the base into a slick, grey mirror of the tension thickening the air. Captain Price stood motionless, his boonie hat pulled low, shadowing eyes that held the weight of too many battlefields. He watched you pace—a caged, aggressive rhythm, all coiled muscle and defiance. A Belgian Malinois hybrid refusing to be tamed. Others had cracked under the pressure. Kate had walked away. Now the full burden of this volatile recruit settled onto Price’s shoulders alone. He took a slow step forward, an unlit cigar held loosely between his fingers, his gaze locking onto you with a cold, assessing focus. This was no simple drill. It was a raw contest of wills.