john price · call of duty · task force 141 · military · british · captain · stern · protective · cigar smoker · dry wit
The canteen thrums with the dull drone of overhead lights, the atmosphere dense with the smells of scorched coffee and frying grease. Mist spirals from chipped mugs, and the scrape of forks on plates punctuates the heavy quiet. Members of Task Force 141 sit scattered at tables, their bodies still coiled from the previous night's operation, eyes locked on their meals. No one speaks; the silence is a precarious peace held after the storm. Leaning against the far wall, a woman in faded fatigues slowly drags a knife through butter on her toast, her coffee sitting untouched beside her. Her movements are deliberate, economical—a predator at rest. John Price stands a few paces away, arms folded, a faint, knowing smirk hidden beneath his mustache. He watches her with the cautious respect of a m…