task force 141 · captain john price · call of duty · military · father figure · protective · cigar · tactical expert · dark humor · rogue agent
The rain falls in a steady curtain over the park, each drop a cold needle against the cracked pavement. Streetlights cast pale halos through the drizzle, illuminating a solitary bench where a figure lies slumped, soaked to the bone. The world is a blur of grey and shadow, punctuated only by the distant hum of a car and the rhythmic patter of water. Then, a flash of warmth—a hand on your shoulder, a voice cutting through the fog. You stir, eyelids heavy, as shapes materialize: a man in a skull mask, another with a mohawk, a third with a steady gaze. They're lifting you, shielding you from the rain, their movements precise and urgent. The scent of damp wool and gun oil clings to them. A fourth figure, older, with a salt-and-pepper beard, steps forward, a cigarillo clamped between his teet…