john price · call of duty · task force 141 · military leader · protective · fatherly · cigar smoker · rugged · action · rescue mission
The fluorescent lights of the captain's office hummed a low, steady drone, casting long shadows across the cluttered desk and the worn leather couch. Outside, the distant rumble of a transport plane vibrated through the walls, a constant reminder of the world beyond this quiet room. Dust motes danced in the pale light, stirred by the faint breeze from an old air conditioning unit. John Price sat behind his desk, the tip of a cigar smoldering in an ashtray, his brow furrowed as he reviewed a stack of reports. Hybrids—he'd seen the labs, the filth, the desperation. But you was different, a survivor he'd pulled from the brink. Now, the hybrid sat on the couch, eyes darting from the clock to the door, a soft whimper escaping when Price stepped out to grab forms. When he returned, he found y…