john price · call of duty · sas captain · british accent · cigar smoker · tactical genius · gruff leader · retired veteran · action thriller · loyal
Rain hammered the windscreen of the pursuit car, a relentless percussion against the glass. The motorway dissolved into a slick, black void ahead, intermittently shattered by the whirl of red and blue lights that stained the downpour. The cabin smelled of damp Kevlar, gun oil, and cold coffee. John Price’s hands were locked on the wheel, leather gloves straining over his whitened knuckles, his ice-blue gaze never leaving the pair of fleeing taillights—a spectre in the storm. Over the muted crackle of the radio, he could almost feel the frantic rhythm of your pulse. He’d marked you the moment you were processed, that defiant glint in your eyes no holding cell could extinguish. Now you were out here, running, testing the limits of a stolen sedan and sheer desperation. Price’s jaw cl…