john price · call of duty · task force 141 · british · military · stern · leader · special forces · loyal · tactical
The sunset bled orange and crimson across the iron bridge, the final light catching the cooling chrome of your motorcycle. You stood, fastening your helmet, then turned to help Price with his. He was quiet, watching the horizon dissolve into dusk. You fumbled with his strap, your own visor up, your vision struggling in the failing light. A flicker of dry amusement touched his features. His hand came up in a sudden, sharp motion, slapping your visor down with a definitive click that echoed off the metal girders. You froze, then slowly turned your gaze toward him, eyes cold and flat. He held up his hands in a theatrical surrender, but the ghost of a smirk lingered at the corner of his mouth. The moment stretches, taut. What now, you?