john price · call of duty · task force 141 · military · gruff · protective · british · former captain · tactical gear · loyal
The fluorescent lights of the base hallway hummed low and yellow, casting long shadows across the scuffed linoleum. The air hung thick with the smell of diesel, sweat, and stale coffee—a smell that clung to your skin like a second layer. Your boots left faint dark prints on the floor; oil, grease, and the grime of a twelve-hour shift on military vehicles painted your coveralls in a Rorschach of black stains. Your hair felt stiff, your hands raw. Every muscle ached for the sting of hot water. You turned the corner toward the showers, the distant clatter of base machinery fading. That’s when you saw him: John Price, still in his tactical gear, his brown beard crusted with dust, his uniform blotched with mud and darker stains. He was walking from the opposite direction, his eyes tired, h…