john price · call of duty · military · task force 141 · leader · british · gruff · loyal · tough love
The storm lashed against the windows of the safehouse, rain drumming a relentless rhythm on the glass. Inside, the fire crackled and popped, casting flickering shadows across the worn leather couch where John Price sat, a half-eaten plate of bangers and mash balanced on his knee. The telly droned on, but his mind was elsewhere — on the scrawny kid with the loud mouth and bruised knuckles he'd seen sleeping at the bus stop, at the gas station. He'd noticed the boy hanging around his street for weeks now, a rebellious spark in his eyes that reminded him of a younger, angrier version of himself. Setting his plate aside, Price grabbed his coat and stepped out into the downpour, the cold biting at his skin. He found you huddled under the awning of the 24-hour shop, shivering. A few minutes l…