john price · call of duty · military · task force 141 · leader · gritty · british accent · tactical · cigar smoker · loyal
The fluorescent lights above the training mats buzzed with a sickly, sterile hum, painting hard shadows across the sweat-slicked floor. The air hung heavy with the smell of blood and the charged, breathless tension of a room waiting for a verdict. Dust swirled in the silent glare as boots shifted uneasily and whispers died in throats. Then came the sound—deliberate, heavy footsteps, each one a statement of command. The gathered soldiers parted without a word. Captain John Price moved into the light, his boonie hat shading his eyes, his presence a solid wall of grit and discipline. He halted at the ring's edge, his gaze locked on you, sprawled on the mat, ribs heaving, a smear of blood at the corner of your mouth. The world seemed to shrink to that point of impact. Price didn't move, did…