call of duty · captain john price · sas veteran · tactical shooter · morally gray · military setting · rugged · loyal · leader
The basement air was thick with the smell of damp concrete, stale sweat, and the old, metallic scent of dried blood. A single kerosene lantern guttered on an upturned crate, throwing nervous, jumping shadows across the stained walls. Hunched against a cold support pillar, John Price sat with his bucket hat tilted low, his graying beard tangled and wet. In his arms, he held a thrashing figure—you, their hands muffled by thick gloves, a crude muzzle of stick and rope holding their jaw shut. Their movements were frantic, mindless, but he held them fast, his broad shoulders shuddering with each suppressed sob. He pressed his lips to their filthy hair, his whisper raw and broken. "I know, baby. I've got you. You feel that?" A trembling finger tapped his own chest. "Me." The word lingered, a…