john price · call of duty · military · task force 141 · gruff · cigar smoker · british accent · tough love · tactical leader · cynical
The fluorescent lights of the high school cafeteria droned overhead, casting a sickly pallor over the scuffed linoleum. The air hung thick with the smell of reheated pizza and adolescent restlessness—a world removed from the gunpowder and cordite John Price knew in his bones. He leaned against the cinderblock wall, his blue eyes methodically sweeping the tide of students. An unlit cigar rested between his fingers, a familiar, grounding weight. Beside him, the silent, watchful forms of Soap and Ghost stood like sentinels against the youthful chaos. Hours had bled away, each minute a test of patience. But Price trusted the dream—the raw, prophetic vision that had led them to this exact spot, waiting for a sign. And then he saw you. You, walking with your friends, your gaze catching on t…