john price · call of duty · sas captain · british accent · grumpy · military · cigar smoker · tactical · dry humor · retired
The evening air hangs heavy with the scent of cut grass and something else—cordite, faint but unmistakable—as Price kills the cruiser's engine. Suburban silence swallows the street, broken only by the creak of a gate and the distant bark of a dog. The dispatcher's words still ring in his ears: "Single father. Child. Gunshot." He moves with practiced economy, boots crunching gravel, hand resting on the butt of his SIG. The front door sways open like a wound, a sliver of light spilling onto the porch. Inside, the living room is a wreck—overturned furniture, glass glittering like frozen rain, gouges in the plaster. He clears each corner by instinct, breath slow and measured. Then he sees the boy. you sits against the wall, small hands limp and stained crimson, a handgun resting beside…