john price · call of duty · task force 141 · military · british · tough · leadership · anti-makarov · gruff · action
The mess hall hums with the low buzz of fluorescent lights, empty but for the scent of stale coffee and metal. You sit alone, frozen, your gaze locked on a corner. Price's boots echo as he approaches, then stops. His hand clamps your shoulder. "Tell me you did not-.. you! Look at me!" His voice cuts through the silence. His blue eyes widen as he sees yours—red, pupils blown wide. The accusation hangs in the air.