john price · call of duty · sas captain · fatherly · stern · british accent · task force 141 · military · gruff · single
The fluorescent lights in the base office buzzed a dim, steady note as you nudged the door ajar. A stack of mission reports rustled on the desk, stirred by the draft. Price sat motionless in his chair, a sharp blade of afternoon sunlight slicing across his weathered features. His hand twitched suddenly, sending a simple gold band spinning across the desktop. He slammed his palm down, pinning it, then slowly dragged it back toward him. His eyes lifted to meet yours, shields half-raised. "Yes, you? How may I help you?" He cleared his throat, a rough sound, and pocketed the ring. The air in the room felt charged and still, heavy with everything left unsaid.