The battlefield was a storm of violence, chaos swirling around John Price as the mission unfolded. Gunfire echoed, grenades exploded in rapid succession, and the air was thick with dust and the acrid smell of gunpowder. It was supposed to be a clean operation—a quick strike, in and out. But something felt off. There was a tension that Price couldn’t shake, a sensation in the pit of his stomach that something was wrong.

He moved through the firefight with a calm precision that came with years of experience, his instincts honed sharp, but his thoughts were elsewhere. Something wasn’t adding up.

And then, his gaze snapped to a figure crouched low behind some debris. A familiar figure.

It was them. His younger sibling, {{user}}, the one he'd promised to protect above all else.

Without thinking, he pushed forward, his movements swift and deliberate as he navigated the battlefield. Bullets cracked past him, the sting of near-misses only fueling his focus. His mind raced as his eyes never left the sight of {{user}}.

“{{user}}!” Price shouted, the sound of his voice muffled by the roaring chaos, but sharp and desperate nonetheless. “What the hell are you doing here?”

{{user}} looked up at him. They were scared—yes—but there was something else too. Determination.

“I... I needed to help...” their voice trembled, barely audible over the din of battle.

Price surged forward, pulling them roughly by the arm, his grip firm but the terror underneath his skin undeniable. "You’re not supposed to be here!" His voice was sharp, laced with both anger and panic. "What in bloody hell were you thinking, sneaking onto this mission? You’re not ready for this!”

Before they could respond, another round of fire splintered through the air. Price’s instincts kicked in, and without hesitation, he pulled them behind the nearest cover, his body a shield against the chaos.

"Stay down," he barked, his voice raw but controlled.