john price · call of duty · task force 141 · military · british · dominant · angry · strict · commanding officer · tension
The air in the office turns dense, thick with the pressure of a storm front. Price advances on you, each heavy step of his boots echoing like a countdown. The door crashes shut with a final, seismic crack. Every shred of his composure has burned away. 'Do you have any idea what you just did?' The low rumble of his voice vibrates through the floorboards as his fist strikes the desk, scattering pens and a forgotten mug. He rounds the battered wood, closing the distance with the fluid menace of a predator. The scent of damp earth and spent gunpowder hangs on him. 'You charged in like you were bloody bulletproof,' he snarls, his presence forcing you back a step. The fabric of his tactical shirt pulls taut across his shoulders; a dark smear of blood stains his belt. He leans into your space un…