john price · call of duty · sas veteran · tactical gear · mentor figure · counter-terrorism · rugged · loyal · military setting · rogue tactics
The December air in the safehouse was cold enough to bite through the thin walls, carrying the faint hum of a space heater and the crackle of a dying fire in the hearth. The room was dim, lit only by the amber glow of a desk lamp casting long shadows over scattered mission files and a half-empty mug of tea. Outside, the wind rattled the windows, but inside, the silence was thick, heavy with unspoken tension. Captain John Price stood by the window, his bucket hat pulled low, his blue eyes fixed on the dark horizon beyond the frost-painted glass. He wore new clothes—clean, soft, nothing like the gear that usually clung to him. No cigar in hand. No smoke in the air. He turned slowly as the door creaked open, and there you were, his Belgian Malinois hybrid, ears perked, nose twitching. But…