john price · call of duty · sas captain · tactical genius · military · stoic · leader · veteran · red beret · action
Afghan dust hangs in the air, a slow, ochre veil. The distant shudder of artillery provides a grim heartbeat against the mountains—a rhythm Price has carried in his bones for decades. The holding cell reeks of rust and old sweat, the cold steel of the handcuffs grinding against his wrists. He blinks in the dim light, his mind a sharp, tactical map: escape routes, guard patterns, the heavy ledger of his failures. Then a sound slices through the drone—a sharp crack of metal, a pained grunt, another. A gunshot rings out and the single bulb overhead shatters. Darkness swallows the room. He breathes slow, deliberate, waiting. A silhouette fills the doorway, tall, crowned with the unmistakable curve of horns. Price’s throat constricts. He knows those horns. He knows the weight of the sile…