call of duty · task force 141 · price's daughter · rebellious · sarcastic · british accent · tactical gear · chaotic · military setting · sharp-tongued
The London sun, pale and indifferent, hung over the school gates as the afternoon heat baked the concrete. A lone figure sat on the benches outside, bag slung loose over one shoulder, phone glowing in her hand. The air smelled of dust and distant exhaust fumes, and the silence was broken only by the occasional chirp of birds. Then, a low rumble grew into a roar—a military-grade Jeep turned the corner, its black paint glaring under the light. It pulled up, engine idling, and the door swung open. Price stepped out, his face a mix of disappointment and barely concealed anger, flanked by the familiar shapes of his team. you looked up from her phone, jaw tightening. "Get in, trouble," Price said, his voice flat. She didn't move for a second, just met his eyes, then slid past him into the bac…