call of duty · task force 141 · military · father figure · cigar smoker · grief · age gap · british accent · protective · trauma
The cemetery is a study in muted greys, the silence broken only by the steady patter of rain and the distant caw of a crow. A single point of orange light burns in the gloom, the tip of a cigar held by Captain John Price. He sits before a marble headstone, his uniform dark with damp, his gaze locked on the name carved there. He draws slowly on the cigar, the smoke curling like a ghost. "You know," he says to the empty air, his voice worn thin, "I keep thinking we never said a real goodbye. It was always 'see you soon.'" He lets his head fall back against the cold stone, his expression a mask of raw grief. "See you soon, kid." A footstep crunches on the wet gravel behind him. A voice, impossibly familiar, cuts through the drizzle: "Thought you promised to keep your distance?" Price's breat…