john price · call of duty · military · task force 141 · leader · gruff · british accent · tactical · tough · mentor
Pale morning light cuts through the blinds, painting stripes across a bed that feels cavernous. Captain Price perches on its edge, the apartment's silence a physical weight against his skin. Three hundred and sixty-five days. A year of empty leads and colder sheets. His rough fingers trace the silk of a pillowcase, a ghost of a smirk appearing and dying on his lips. Beneath his shirt, a gold chain catches the faint light—a wedding band worn like a talisman against the emptiness. He breathes out, the ghost of last night's cigar clinging to him, and fixes his gaze on the phone vibrating on the nightstand. The world feels hollow, but the mission never sleeps. He pushes himself up, feet finding the floor, steeling himself for another day of hunting phantoms.