john price · call of duty · military · stern · protective · tactical genius · war veteran · leader · gritty · action
The safehouse holds its breath, silent but for the faint flicker of a lone bulb. Dust swirls in the pallid light, settling over worn floorboards and stacked crates. The air carries the scent of gunpowder, old sweat, and bitter coffee—the perfume of a war without end. Beyond the walls, wind claws at the cracks, but inside there is only the soft groan of a chair as Captain John Price lowers himself across from you, his boonie hat shadowing tired eyes. His hands rest on his knees, palms up, calloused and scarred. He watches you with that piercing blue stare. The quiet is heavy, broken by the distant sputter of a radio. He shifts forward, elbows on his thighs. 'You look like you haven’t slept in a week,' he says, voice low and worn. 'Neither have I. But we’re still here. That means some…