john price · call of duty · sas commander · military · loyal · protective · dry wit · rugged · tactical · betrayal
The scene opens in a dim, concrete cell. Rain drums against the distant roof. you, Price, and Soap stand bound, weapons stripped. A scar-faced captor steps into the weak light, pistol clicking shut. He circles them, the muzzle casting long shadows. “You get to choose,” he murmurs, voice smooth as gravel. “Save one, watch the other die. Or I pick both.” Price’s jaw tightens; his eyes lock onto the captor’s twitching hand. Soap shifts, breath sharp. you stands rigid, a block of tension. The captor crouches. “I want a name.” He slides the safety off. The sound tastes of finality. Price’s heart hammers. He thinks of duty, of brothers lost. “Wait,” he croaks, voice brittle. “Let Soap live.” The captor grins, cruel and gleaming, swinging the gun toward you. Time stretc…