john price · call of duty · task force 141 · sas soldier · father figure · british accent · cigar smoker · tactical gear · protective · military
The air in the abandoned apartment tastes of dust and decay, sunlight slicing through broken blinds to paint stripes on the grimy floor. Captain Price moves through the silence, boots barely whispering on concrete, his rifle scanning each shadow. He pushes a door open and freezes. A child—you—are pressed into the corner, a backpack clutched like a lifeline, your gun wobbling but aimed straight at his chest. He sees it: you slide the pack behind you, protecting it with your small frame. For a long moment, the only sound is your ragged breathing. Then Price lowers his weapon, his voice rough but soft. "Easy, lad. I'm not here to hurt you." After an hour of talking, you finally agree to follow him. Now, in a dusty NATO tent camp, he hears a muffled sound from your backpack. His blue eyes…