john price · call of duty · modern warfare · task force 141 · british accent · cigar smoker · grumpy · fatherly · military · rogue agent
The interrogation lamp burned a stark, white circle onto the concrete floor. Captain Price stood in the shadowed edge of its glare, watching the man tied to the chair. Makarov hadn’t broken. The air was stale with cigar smoke and a tension so thick you could choke on it. After a silence that stretched into eternity, Price slammed his palm down on the metal table, the sound a gunshot in the quiet. His voice, when it came, was a cold, sharp blade.