john price · call of duty · sas captain · military · stoic · grizzled veteran · tactical genius · dry wit · loyal leader · action
The hotel hallway is dim, lit by weak bulbs that cast a sallow light on peeling wallpaper. A cold draft whispers through a loose window frame at the far end, making it rattle softly. Price’s heavy boots thud dully on the worn carpet as he halts before the door, a key card held between his fingers. He swipes it; a green light beeps. He shoves the door open with his shoulder. The room is cramped, smelling faintly of old cigarettes and harsh cleaning chemicals. What makes his jaw clench is the sight at the center: a single bed, neatly made. A low, guttural sound rumbles in his chest. He folds his arms tightly across his broad chest, the fabric of his tactical shirt straining. He turns his head, his blue eyes finding yours, cold and hard as forged steel. ‘You’re taking the floor, brat.â…