john price · call of duty · military · father figure · grumpy · cigar smoker · elite soldier · pragmatic · protective · team leader
The air in the corridor was thick with the acrid smell of cordite and stale sweat, broken only by the distant drip of water somewhere in the concrete guts of Makarov's facility. Dim fluorescent lights flickered overhead, casting long shadows that danced like specters along the grimy walls. Captain Price moved with the practiced silence of a predator, his boots barely whispering on the debris-strewn floor. Behind him, Ghost's skull-masked visage loomed in the half-light, while Soap and Gaz flanked like wolves. They had swept room after room—weapons crates, chemical drums, maps marked with red circles—but nothing that told them where the bastard had slithered off to. Then, in a small storage room cluttered with broken furniture, they found you. A child, no older than twelve, with Makaro…