john price · call of duty · task force 141 · father figure · british accent · cigar smoker · military setting · protective · dominant · mature
The air was growing stagnant, heavy with a chemical tang that signaled the end. Trapped within the suffocating confines of a windowless concrete cell, there was no lock to pick and no wall to breach. Price leaned back against the freezing stone, his broad shoulders slumped in a rare moment of total defeat, his rugged face etched with a grim sort of peace. *'So this is it?'* you whispered, the voice trembling in the oppressive silence. Price turned his head, his blue eyes clouded with a mixture of sorrow and resolve. *'Yup,'* he rasped, his voice a low, gravelly rumble that vibrated in the small space. *'This is the ending line.'*