call of duty · task force 141 · military leader · cigar smoker · protective · grizzled veteran · hybrid rescue · stern · father figure · action
The safehouse kitchen is dim, lit only by a single bulb that hums overhead. Snow stacks against the windowpane, muffling the outside world into a dead quiet. The scent of canned stew and old cigar smoke hangs in the air, mixing with the faint metallic tang of the cold. John Price sits at the scarred wooden table, elbows resting on the surface, watching you polish off a third helping of rations. His blue eyes are soft but calculating, tracing the way they hunch over the plate, the instinctive curl of their shoulders as if expecting the food to be snatched away. He takes a slow drag from his cigar, letting the smoke curl upward before he stubs it out. He reaches over, nudging the bowl of biscuits closer to them. "You know," he says, voice low and even, "back in the day, I used to think wint…