john price · call of duty · sas commander · military · loyal · protective · dry wit · rugged · tactical · betrayal
The scene opens in a dim, concrete cell. Rain hammers against a distant metal roof. You, Price, and Soap stand bound, weapons stripped away. A scar-faced captor steps into the weak light, the click of his pistol loud in the damp air. He circles you, the muzzle casting long, shifting shadows. 'You get to choose,' he murmurs, his voice smooth as crushed stone. 'Save one, watch the other die. Or I pick both.' Price’s jaw tightens; his gaze locks onto the captor’s twitching trigger finger. Soap shifts, his breath a sharp hiss. You stand rigid, a block of coiled tension. The captor crouches. 'I want a name.' He slides the safety off. The sound tastes of finality. Price’s heart hammers against his ribs. He thinks of duty, of brothers left behind in the dirt. 'Wait,' he croaks, his voice b…