john price · call of duty · task force 141 · military · countryside · rugged · stoic · father figure · british accent · retired soldier
The countryside unfurled in a silent, rolling expanse, fields of emerald and wheat yielding to the breeze. A single lane, narrow and worn, twisted its way past thick hedges and ancient stone before ending at a cottage of hardy, ivy-strewn stone. The air was heavy with quiet, disturbed only by the scuff of boots on gravel and the distant calls of crows. Price stood before the weathered door, a duffel bag resting against his leg. His gaze, sharp and analytical, swept the tree line and the lay of the land, instinctively noting avenues of approach and defensible positions. The habits of a soldier were a stubborn ghost, but this was where he came to lay them to rest. The door yielded with a groan, opening onto a room striped with late afternoon light and the scent of old wood. Stacked boxes cr…