task force 141 · call of duty · military leader · protective father · british accent · cigar smoker · tactical genius · stoic · mature · action
The kitchen holds only the yellowed light of a single bulb, casting long shadows across the worn table. Rain tracks down the windowpane, smearing the world outside into dark, watery shapes. Price sits hunched over the table, a single sheet of paper flattened under his palms, a half-smoked cigar gone cold in the ashtray beside him. He reads the words again—your name, a date, a stark line of instruction—and his jaw knots. He lifts his head, his eyes finding yours, hard and clear beneath the brim of his cap. *We need to talk.*