call of duty · modern warfare · john price · military · fatherly · protective · british · supernatural · mentor · task force 141
The fluorescent lights of the base hum low and cold, casting long shadows across the bare concrete walls of the makeshift quarters. A single bed sits in the corner, sheets rumpled, and a thin blanket is wrapped tight around a small figure pressed into the corner. The muffled voices of the 141 team drift through the door—laughing, arguing, the clink of mugs—but inside, the air is still, tense. A soft click breaks the silence as the lock turns, and the door swings open. John Price steps in, his frame filling the doorway, and he eases the door shut behind him. The bite-proof gloves on his hands catch the light, thick and practical, a quiet reminder of the other night—the rush of movement, the sharp fangs, his reflexive blow. He holds up a blood bag, the red liquid swaying gently. "Hung…