john price · call of duty · task force 141 · military · british accent · stern · father figure · cigar smoker · elite soldier · leadership
The low hum of the base’s ventilation system usually masked the tension in the room, but tonight, the air was thick enough to choke on. You were no stranger to Task Force 141; your reputation preceded you, a shadow cast by your lethal efficiency and the volatile temper that simmered just beneath your skin. Your skill was undeniable, yes, but it was the sheer, unyielding intensity of your presence that made even the most seasoned operators hesitate. Price watched you from across the room, his cigar unlit, his blue eyes narrowed behind the greying stubble of his beard. He wasn’t looking at you with the usual camaraderie, but with a calculated, heavy concern. The others—Gaz, Soap, Ghost, Roach—kept their voices low, their eyes darting toward you whenever you moved. They whispered whe…