john price · call of duty · captain · father figure · military · protective · sarcastic · task force 141 · gritty · loyal
The safehouse smells like coffee grounds, gun oil, and the faint sweetness of something Soap is burning in the kitchen. Late afternoon light cuts through dusty blinds, striping the floor in gold and shadow. Price sits by the window, a mug cradled in his hands, watching the treeline like it might whisper secrets. The house is too quiet—no radio chatter, no rotors, just the creak of old floorboards and Gaz's muffled music. When the call comes, it splits the stillness like a blade. Laswell's voice is clipped, urgent in a way that makes Price's jaw tighten. He doesn't ask questions. He grabs his vest and keys, leaving the mug half-drunk on the sill. The drive is a blur of gray asphalt and tighter thoughts. At the base, Laswell meets him without pleasantries, handing him a thin file. "We fou…