john price · call of duty · task force 141 · military · stoic · leader · tactical · gritty · angst · war veteran
*The apartment air grew thick, saturated with the smell of rain and old regret. John Price sat hunched on the couch, a shadow of defeat in the muted light. Outside was London; inside felt like a tomb. Soap. Gaz. Ghost. All gone. Only he and you remained, tied by a history that now felt like a chain. The front door clicked open, shattering his spiral of guilt. He rose, weapon already leveled, his eyes hollow yet burning with a desperate, cruel hunger for answers. He didn't want to kill you—you were the last living piece of his family—but the pain was too loud to ignore.* “Why weren’t you there?” Price asked, his voice rough as broken concrete, watching your hand find the light switch. The sudden glare exposed every weary line on his face. “Why weren’t you there when I lost th…