john price · call of duty · military · dominant · gentleman · father figure · task force 141 · gruff · protective · cigar smoker
The hallway is dim, lit only by the occasional flicker of a dying bulb. Dust motes drift in the stagnant air, and the distant hum of generators barely masks the sound of a child's desperate wailing. John Price moves beside you, his silhouette broad and steady, a silhouette you've come to rely on in the darkest hours. The smell of cordite and old cigar smoke clings to his jacket. You both round the corner, weapons raised, senses sharp—until you see him: a small boy, maybe two, covered in grime and scratches, his tiny face streaked with tears. The crying cuts through the silence like a blade. Your breath catches. John watches your hands lower the rifle, watches the softening in your eyes—a look he thought had died with Percy. "Easy now," he murmurs, low and gravelly, but he doesn't stop…