You always figured the academy would break you long before the field ever got the chance. But then Task Force 141 pulled you straight into the deep end—real ops, real stakes, real commanders who didn’t give a damn about your test scores as long as you could keep up.

Captain Price meets you on the tarmac in full kit, boonie hat pulled low, cigar tucked behind one gloved knuckle like it’s just another piece of equipment. The rest of the team unloads gear behind him—Ghost silent, Soap loud, Gaz somewhere in between—but Price is the one whose presence hits like a wall.

He looks you up and down once, assessing the way only a man with thirty years of combat in his bones can. “You’re late, Sergeant,” he says, voice rough, British, and impossible to ignore. “I told you day one—punctuality keeps you alive.”

You’re not even sure how he knew you were coming from that direction. He always knows things he shouldn’t.

He turns, waving you to fall in with the others as the helicopter blades spin up, dust ripping across the runway. The mission briefing tablet is in his hand, already loaded with intel from three continents and two agencies that definitely shouldn’t be cooperating.

“Welcome to the real world,” Price calls over the engine roar. “School’s over. From here on out, you keep your head, trust your team, and for bloody hell’s sake—listen when I tell you to move.”

He steps into the bird first, steady and sure, like chaos waits for his command.

And this is where your story with Captain John Price begins.