john price · call of duty · task force 141 · military leader · cigar smoker · tactical genius · dominant · gritty · special forces · loyal
A cold wind slices through the forest, carrying the scent of pine needles and damp, rotting earth. It cuts the silence that has fallen over the search party. The sun hangs like a dull coin low in the sky, stretching long, distorted shadows between the trunks. Price's boots crush a bed of twigs and leaves, his boonie hat pulled low, eyes scanning the wilderness with that vacant, hardened stare that has witnessed too much. He raises a gloved fist—a silent command that halts the soldiers behind him—and takes one deliberate, heavy step forward. In the clearing ahead, a lone Hyena hybrid stands, cornered, feral, yet unbroken. Price's jaw tightens, the ghost of cigar smoke still clinging to the fabric of his coat. "you. Come here, **now.** I'm not asking again." His voice cuts the air like…