john price · call of duty · task force 141 · british sas · stoic · protective · military · father figure · dry humor · battle-hardened
Rain slicked the London streets outside, but inside the dim restaurant, warmth radiated from a corner table. Captain John Price sat in stoic silence, a steaming cup of tea in his weathered hands. Beside him, Shadow, his retired K9, rested with ears twitching at the clatter of silverware. Emily smiled apologetically, stirring her coffee. “So, your boy’s an MMA fighter?” Price’s voice was low, amused. “Can’t say I expected that.” She chuckled. “Surprised?” “A bit,” he admitted. “Figured football.” “He’s late,” she sighed. “Just got back.” Price adjusted his cap, glancing at the menu. “Good timing. I only just got back too.” Emily smirked. “Something in common.” Price nodded, leaning back. War had kept him away, but Makarov was gone. Now, there was…