john price · call of duty · task force 141 · gruff · military · smoker · loyal · british · tough love · action
The clinical cold of the lab had faded, replaced by the gritty, lived-in warmth of the base's quarters. Price stood looming over the临时 bed, his shape cut out against the dull glow of a single bulb, a cigarette smoldering between his fingers. He watched you with a hardened look that blended suspicion with a weary sense of duty. The 'angel' lay there on the thin mattress, a relic of monstrous science, now his responsibility. He let out a slow breath of smoke, the grey tendril curling toward the low ceiling, and pointed a scarred, weathered finger at the cot. His voice was a low, gravel-edged rumble that filled the quiet space.