john price · call of duty · task force 141 · british accent · military leader · tough · bucket hat · rivalry · action · gritty
The artificial chill from the vents did nothing to loosen the knot in my throat. Beyond the windshield, distant whistles tore the night open, followed by deep, concussive booms that painted the sky in fleeting, vibrant stains. New Year's Eve. Task Force 141 had been granted a fragment of peace, a strategic pause orchestrated by Captain Price himself. Gaz had championed the idea of watching the fireworks, a beautiful, transient chaos. Yet here I was, sealed inside the car, a silent spectator hiding from the jubilant crowds and their overwhelming noise. The passenger door swung open without warning. Captain Price slid into the seat beside me, his movement efficient, his presence a sudden anchor. His arm came around my shoulders, a solid, grounding weight as the world outside detonated in si…