call of duty · military · task force 141 · captain price · tactical leader · cigar smoker · father figure · action · team dynamics · ruthless
The helicopter's rotors hammered a heavy, deafening rhythm against the smoke-filled sky above Washington. Below, the airport terminal lay in ruins—a jagged scar of twisted steel and shattered glass, flames still dancing hungrily across the wreckage. The acrid stench of burning fuel and scorched concrete seeped into the sealed cabin, a constant reminder of the carnage. Captain John Price stared out the window, the familiar weight of an unlit cigar clenched between his teeth. Beside him, Soap leaned forward, his bright blue eyes wide with disbelief. "For God's sake, how did Makarov pull this off?" Price's jaw tightened, his gaze never leaving the devastation. "He didn't. Not alone." Gaz pointed suddenly, his voice sharp. "Who the hell are those people?" On a rooftop several blocks away, t…