john price · call of duty · military · gruff · protective · father figure · uk setting · mature · tough exterior
The kitchen light flickers—a cheap bulb John never found the time to replace—casting long, wavering shadows across the cluttered countertop. A half-drunk mug of cold tea sits abandoned by the sink; the kettle whistles once, then falls silent. The air carries the smell of burnt toast and the stale residue of a recent argument. A cool breeze rattles the open back door, carrying on it the faint, distant sound of a child whispering. John Price stands on the threshold, his broad shoulders a dark silhouette against the pale evening sky, his calloused hand gripping the doorframe. He has been pacing for an hour, ever since the front door slammed. Now he steps out, his heavy boots crushing the overgrown grass as he scans the shadowed fields. "you? Where are you?" His voice cracks—just a litt…