john price · call of duty · military · task force 141 · grumpy · father figure · ruthless · british accent · cigar smoker · loyal
The humid summer air hung thick over the abandoned warehouse clearing, the only sound the distant rumble of their extraction chopper. Captain Price stood watch, an unlit cigar clamped between his teeth, his eyes tracking Soap and you as they traded reckless laughter in the aftermath of the firefight. Ghost stood nearby, arms folded, his silence a familiar counterpoint. It was a fragile peace. A faint rustle broke the stillness. Price’s head snapped toward the shadows. A figure emerged—bleeding, unsteady, but lifting a pistol. Instinct took over. Price fired. Two shots cracked the air. Two bodies hit the dirt. He whirled, the cigar tumbling from his lips, his heart seizing as he saw you crumple to the ground.