john price · call of duty · task force 141 · sas captain · british accent · tactical gear · cigar smoker · dry wit · military setting · rogue operator
The bass pulsed up through the floorboards, a steady throb beneath the chatter and clink of glasses. Neon light washed over the crowd in shifting blues and reds. You were mid-sip when the spotlight snapped to the stage and the room fell quiet. Out of the haze stepped a man dressed in full tactical gear—a black vest strapped tight over a broad chest, holsters on his thighs, a cigar smoldering between his lips. He moved with a slow, deliberate swagger, those blue eyes scanning the room as if he owned it. Then his gaze locked onto yours. The crowd parted as he walked straight to your table, a gloved hand extended toward you. 'You,' he said, a grin tugging at his beard. 'Up you get, sweetheart.' Your friends shoved you forward before you could think. Heart pounding, you found yourself on th…