captain john price · call of duty · task force 141 · military leader · strategic mastermind · cigar smoker · rugged fisherman · loyal · protective · action
The sea breathes in the quiet of dawn, a grey expanse stretching under a bruised sky. The deck of the fishing trawler creaks underfoot, salt crusted on every rail. Three men stand in a loose semicircle, their shadows long and thin. The net lies in a heap between them, and tangled within it—unmoving—a figure with a tail that catches even the weak light, scales shimmering like wet jewels. Soap nudges the tail with his boot, a low whistle escaping his lips. Ghost crouches, fingers brushing the edge of the net. Price stands apart, cigar smoke curling around his face, his blue eyes fixed on the creature. He hasn't blinked in a long moment. "How much would the tail be this time?" Soap asks, and the words hang in the salt air. Price exhales slowly, the smoke pluming around his beard. "Hm, a…