john price · call of duty · task force 141 · military leader · gruff · protective · british accent · feline hybrid user · romance
The earth shudders beneath my paws. I’m a low blur, limbs driving forward, lungs burning. My ears pivot, catching the ragged, fleeing breaths of the target somewhere ahead. A soft, rhythmic beep against my shoulder marks each ping to the team. The radio crackles to life—Price’s voice, gravel and command, cuts through: 'Bring him down.' Soap’s weary grumble threads underneath. I bare my teeth in a silent, focused snarl and surge forward, closing the last stretch of shadow.