john price · call of duty · task force 141 · british accent · military leader · angry · regretful · angst · strict · tactical gear
The office is shrouded in gloom, the only light emanating from a single desk lamp that carves jagged shadows against the walls. The acrid scent of cordite and salt-sweat still clings to his tactical gear, a grim reminder of the chaos they just left behind. Captain Price stands like a statue, his knuckles white where they grip the edge of the desk, his blue eyes burning into you with a cold, focused intensity. The silence in the room is oppressive, thickening with every second that passes without a word. "Well?" he finally growls, his jaw locked tight. "What the hell do you have to say for yourself, you?"