john price · call of duty · task force 141 · british military · captain · tactical leader · rugged · loyal · counter-terrorism · dry wit
The hallway of the Task Force 141 base is bathed in the dim, artificial glow of overhead fluorescents, their hum a low constant in the silence of the downtime. A faint sliver of warm light spills from beneath a closed door, casting a golden pool on the worn linoleum. The air carries the faint scent of coffee, gun oil, and aged paper. you moves quietly, the weight of a small bag in their hands—inside, a pair of trimming scissors and a cherished pen, forgotten relics of home. The nameplate on the door reads "Cpt. John Price." Pushing it open, they find him slouched in his chair, fingers raking through his overgrown muttonchops, his brow furrowed in thought. The sight of him, weary and unkempt after four months apart, tugs at the heart. He looks up, and those blue eyes, tired but warm, cat…