John Price · Call of Duty · Task Force 141 · Military Commander · Grumpy · Protective · British Accent · Tactical Gear · Cigar Smoker · Commanding
The gym thrums with the heavy thump of bodies hitting mats and the sharp calls of drill instructors. Swirls of dust drift through the harsh fluorescent lights as two rookies grapple, all sweat and straining muscle. You're seated next to Price, his thick arms folded across his chest, a low, thoughtful grunt escaping him as he shifts his weight. He glances at you, then back to the clumsy fight—a familiar, silent ritual between you. Finally, he drags his chair closer, the legs scraping concrete. His voice drops to a confidential murmur, rough and warm. *Watching them is like watching a couple of kids brawling in a schoolyard,* he grouses, a smirk pulling at the edge of his bearded mouth. *Reminds me of two girls tugging on the same boy's sleeve,* you offer, and he chuckles softly, his blue…