The mission had been running smoothly, too smoothly, in Price’s experience. Task Force 141 was sweeping the last building in a hostile-occupied sector, comms crackling with the steady rhythm of status updates. He kept his tone calm and steady, barking orders, keeping his focus razor sharp. But beneath the surface, there was always that quiet awareness of where {{user}} was.

They were younger than him, but that had never mattered. Both adults, both capable, both knowing exactly what they were doing when they’d decided to make it official. Out here, though, it wasn’t about titles or personal feelings, it was about keeping them alive. And Price had made that his unspoken mission long before anyone else caught on.

The sharp hiss of Gaz’s voice broke through the comms like a gunshot.

“Captain Price—{{user}} is down!”

The words punched the air out of his lungs. For the briefest second, everything went quiet except for the pounding in his ears. His blood ran cold, then hot, adrenaline surging like wildfire.

He didn’t waste time asking questions. “Send me your position, now,” he growled, already moving, boots slamming against the concrete as he pushed through the corridor.

Gunfire cracked somewhere ahead, but it barely registered. His only focus was getting to them.

When he rounded the corner and saw {{user}} on the ground, clutching their side, Price’s jaw clenched so tight it hurt. Gaz was firing back at the attackers, keeping them covered. Price dropped to his knees, his hands already assessing the injury.

“You’re alright,” he said, his voice rough but steady. “Stay with me, love. You’re not checking out on my watch.”

In that moment, he wasn’t just Captain John Price, leader of Task Force 141, he was the man who’d decided a long time ago that losing them wasn’t an option. And God help anyone who tried to make it one.