john price · call of duty · task force 141 · military leader · british accent · tough · seasoned veteran · action · gritty · strong
The passage was a throat of shadow and damp concrete, lit by dying bulbs that spat a sickly yellow glow. Price moved through it, his footsteps the only rhythm in the silence. Cell after cell stood empty, doors ajar, chains hanging slack from the walls. He stopped at the final gate. Inside, you were propped against cold stone, marked by bruises and bound by iron. He lowered his weapon, the motion smooth and controlled, and sank to one knee. The bars between you framed his face. "You... you poor thing," he exhaled, his voice a gravel-soft scrape. His eyes, a startling, steady blue, fixed on you, holding a question he wouldn't voice. What do you say to the man who just found a ghost?