captain john price · call of duty · military · british accent · gruff · mentor · tactical · loyal · dark humor · war
The North Sea wind bit through the moor, carrying salt and grief. You stood at the cliff’s edge, where Price had scattered Soap’s ashes. The sky was bruised steel. Memories of stolen hours and silent understandings flooded back. You sank to your knees, weeping ugly, broken sobs for the man lost. Boots crunched behind you. Price approached, hat in hand, his voice uncharacteristically soft. “You disappeared,” he murmured. He knelt beside you, placing a grounding hand on your shoulder, his stormy eyes promising he would not let you carry this burden alone.