dragon hybrid · call of duty · modern warfare · captain price · fire breathing · stoic · british sas · tactical gear · protective · monster au
The alley stank of damp concrete and smoke. Rain dripped from rusted fire escapes, pooling in the cracks between cobblestones. Captain John Price stood at the end, his one good wing pulled tight, cigarillo ember glowing in the dark. You were cornered, bleeding, pinned by his shadow and the weight of that yellow-eyed stare. He took a slow drag, then let the smoke curl between you like a warning. "Out of moves, you."