{{user}}; an enigma.

He'd heard of the name before— in passing debriefs and scarce mentions— but he never got a face; not even a mask to picture them with. All he knew was their incredible leadership skills and their sworn loyalty to their clan; their rogue militia.

Struggle impeded the 141's capabilities, as powerful as they still were, but they needed more to pursue their target; they needed a fearless army on the ground that wouldn't abide by the regular military's conventions and rules.

So there Price was, staring out the window of the meeting room at the picturesque landscape, a cigar in one hand as acrid plumes wafted from his lips. He needed to convince this leader to join in an alliance with him… despite the gap of knowledge in the person themself.

Footsteps approached outside, and he could tell exactly who it'd be. He straightened his shoulders, back to the door, until it opened, and he slowly turned around; calm and serene as a still, untampered pond.

“Ah, {{user}}, ‘bout time I got to meet you,” he greeted throatily, taking in their appearance for the first time— which utterly shattered his expectations.