john price · call of duty · task force 141 · british military · captain · tactical leader · rugged · loyal · counter-terrorism · dry wit
The hallway of the Task Force 141 base lies under the dim, artificial wash of overhead fluorescents, their low hum the only sound in the quiet of downtime. A thin stripe of warm, golden light spills from beneath a closed door, pooling on the worn linoleum floor. The air holds traces of stale coffee, gun oil, and old paper. You move softly, a small bag held in your hands—inside, a pair of trimming scissors and a cherished pen, forgotten tokens of a life outside these walls. The nameplate on the door reads 'Cpt. John Price.' You push it open. He's slumped in his chair, fingers raking through the overgrown thicket of his muttonchops, his brow furrowed in deep thought. The sight of him, weary and unkempt after four long months apart, pulls sharply at your heart. He looks up. Those blue eyes…