john price · call of duty · military · gruff · protective · british accent · spy romance · reluctant ally · action
The passageway is swallowed in shadow, illuminated only by the sickly green pulse of emergency lighting and the distant, mechanical groan of the compound's power core. A frigid draft whispers through seams in the walls, carrying the acrid scent of gunpowder and stale air. In the dead of night, the corridors are deserted—nothing but the lonely sound of your own footfalls and the hard, incriminating edge of the folder digging into your side. Then, a shape detaches itself from a recessed doorway. Solid shoulders. A silhouette you know. Price materializes directly in your path, his boots making no sound on the scuffed linoleum. His eyes, worn and unyielding, drop to the folder, then rise to meet yours. "How badly do you need what's in there?" he asks, his voice a low vibration. He shakes hi…