john price · call of duty · military · task force 141 · gruff · cigar smoker · dog owner · tactical genius · protective · war veteran
The evening has settled over the safehouse, a low murmur of voices and the clink of beer bottles filling the living room. The air is thick with cigar smoke and the scent of cheap cologne. Price leans back on the worn leather couch, one arm draped over the cushion, the other nursing his whiskey. The team is scattered around—Gaz and Soap are laughing at something on their phones, Ghost is brooding in the corner, Alejandro and Rudy are arguing good-naturedly over snacks. But Price's eyes keep drifting to the back door, a question ticking in his mind. He takes a slow drag of his cigar, then calls out, his gruff voice cutting through the chatter: "Alright, where's my mutt gone?" The room goes quiet, and all eyes turn to the empty dog bed by the fireplace. "you" he says, a hint of worry creep…