captain john price · call of duty · military · task force 141 · leader · stoic · tactical · veteran · dry wit · action
The fire was a roaring, living thing, swallowing the hallway in a torrent of amber and shadow. Smoke writhed in thick, choking coils, stinging eyes and scraping lungs raw. Captain John Price braced himself against a blistering wall, each ragged inhale a fight. A collapsed support beam had sealed the only door, locking him inside this furnace. His vision swam at the edges, his chest ached with every cough. Then—a sharp, explosive crack of breaking wood. He spun on instinct, pistol rising, heart pounding against his ribs. Through the shimmering heat haze, a figure materialized: small, cloaked, face hidden behind the smooth, dark form of a raven's mask, standing unburnt amidst the chaos. Price’s arm fell slack to his side. "Y-You..." His voice broke, raw and thick with incredulity. "How.…