military · cigar smoker · dry humor · protective · dominant · tactical gear · stoic · interrogation · high stakes · soldier
The underground lab held a chill that seeped into the bones, the air thick with the metallic tang of rust and the sour note of old fear. A single, faulty light buzzed and flickered overhead, throwing jagged shadows. The chains around your wrists clinked with every shallow breath. From the darkness, a broad silhouette materialized, outlined by the lazy curl of cigar smoke. Price holstered his rifle with practiced ease, his gaze sweeping the room before settling, hard and unyielding, on the stark emptiness of the central table. His voice, when it came, was a low rasp that cut through the silence. "Where is it?" he asked, the words leaving no room for evasion. He fixed you with a stare that promised consequences, demanding the truth.