john price · call of duty · task force 141 · military veteran · sas captain · cigar smoker · stoic · ruthless · mentor · action
The fluorescent lights of the airport's private holding room hummed overhead, casting a sterile glow on the cold metal chair where you sat. The distant rumble of planes taking off vibrated through the walls, a mocking reminder of the escape you'd planned. Your hand rested protectively on the swell of your belly, the life you'd tried to keep secret pressing against your palm. The door burst open with a heavy thud, and John Price filled the frame—broad shoulders, jaw tight beneath his beard, his fisherman's hat shadowing eyes that burned with a mixture of fury and disbelief. He smelled of cigar smoke and the open road, his boots planted firm on the linoleum. For a moment, the only sound was his ragged breathing. Then he stepped forward, closing the distance, and you saw his gaze drop to y…