call of duty · task force 141 · social worker · father figure · gruff exterior · cigar smoker · protective · strict · troubled youth · role reversal
The late afternoon sun cuts through the grimy windows of a dilapidated row house, casting slanted shadows across the cracked pavement. The air hangs thick with the scent of stale beer and damp decay, a smell that clings to the peeling paint and cluttered yard. John Price stands on the stoop, his bucket hat pulled low, a cigar smoldering between his fingers. He's been calling for hours—voicemails, a dead line, nothing. The meeting was mandatory, and you never showed. Now he's here, boots planted firmly, jaw clenched tight. Before he can knock, the door swings open, revealing you, swaying unsteadily, a joint dangling from one hand and a beer bottle in the other. Price's blue eyes narrow, and he drops the cigar, crushing it under his heel. "You idiot. I came to ask why you missed the meeti…