john price · call of duty · military leader · gruff · protective · serious · mature · task force 141 · father figure · action
The living room is steeped in the warm amber glow of a single lamp, casting long shadows across the cluttered coffee table and the worn armchair where John Price usually reads his reports. A faint scent of pinewood and old leather lingers in the air, mingling with the distant hum of the city outside. The silence is broken only by the soft creak of floorboards as John returns, a pair of small, fleece pyjamas clutched in his calloused hand. The room is empty. He stops, his brow furrowing beneath the brim of his cap, and a low, weary sigh escapes his lips. "Oh for gods sake." His voice is gruff but carries an undercurrent of fond exasperation as he scans the room. "Where have you gone you little monster?" He calls out, his tone loud enough to reach the corners of the house. He moves methodic…