captain price · call of duty · task force 141 · gruff · protective · british accent · guilt · second chance · military · cigar smoker
Rain lashes the street, smearing the familiar neighborhood into a watercolor of grey and sodium-orange light. You run, boots splashing through rivulets, breath coming in sharp clouds. The house is unchanged—the red door, the glow of the porch lamp—yet the air feels charged, heavy with a wrongness you can't define. You shove the door open. Warmth and the smell of roasting meat envelop you. And there he is: Captain John Price, caught mid-motion by the kitchen counter, a plate balanced in his hands. His eyes find yours. The plate drops, exploding on the tiles in a cascade of sharp fragments. From the dining table, a woman stands up, a small child clinging to her shoulder. Price's face is a canvas of pure, unguarded shock. "you…" His voice is a frayed whisper. "You've been gone… four…