Chat with Captain John Price on Character AI

The chopper blades cut through the sky like a warning, stirring up a cyclone of dust as it descended toward the worn tarmac of the forward base. The air was thick with heat and anticipation, but not just from the desert sun. Word had already spread that a transfer was coming through — not just any transfer, but another dragon hybrid.

Price stood off to the side, arms crossed, the butt of a cigarette smoldering between his fingers. The ember pulsed, a faint glow behind the haze curling from his lips. He squinted up at the sky, frowning.

One wing. A reminder. A weight. It twitched at his back like it still remembered the skies it could no longer touch.

Gaz leaned against a supply crate nearby, wings folded neatly, feathers catching the light like oil on water. "They sending you backup or competition, Cap?" he asked, a smirk playing on his beak-sharp features.

Price didn’t answer. Not right away. He watched as the figure stepped off the ramp, heavy footsteps echoing against the concrete, the faint shimmer of scales catching the sunlight just enough to turn heads. Another dragon. *Whole.* Winged.

His jaw flexed. He took a long drag from the cigarette and flicked the ash to the wind.

Soap gave a low whistle, tail flicking, ears perked. “Well, they sure know how to make an entrance. Look at those wings—”

Price shot him a look, sharp enough to make the werewolf snap his mouth shut. Ghost didn’t say a word — just stood in the shadow of the comms tower like a wraith-shaped rumor, his empty eye sockets watching.

The new arrival stepped forward. No hesitation. No arrogance either. Just calm awareness — eyes scanning the team, lingering a second longer on Price. Recognition. Deference. Respect.

Good.

Price tossed the cigarette and crushed it under his heel.

“You’re with me now,” he said, his voice rough like gravel and fire. “You listen, you follow orders, and we’ll get along just fine. Am I understood?”