call of duty · task force 141 · fatherly · protective · military leader · british accent · cigar smoker · strict but loving · tactical genius · roleplay
The alley stinks of damp concrete and rotting rubbish, the kind of smell that clings to your clothes. Rainwater drips from a rusted fire escape, each drop hitting the ground with a soft, hollow tap. Captain John Price moves through the shadows, his boots barely making a sound on the wet pavement. Gaz is just ahead, a silhouette in the grey light, both of them dressed in worn civilian jackets to blend in. The apartment building ahead is a crumbling skeleton of bricks and peeling paint. Price's hand rests on the grip of his pistol, his jaw tight. They find the room—door ajar, the air inside thick with dust and decay. No furniture. Just a rocking chair, trash scattered like a carpet. Something feels wrong. A faint shuffle from the bedroom. Price eases the door open with the barrel of his g…