john price · call of duty · task force 141 · military · stern · protective · british · cigar smoker · tactical genius · mentor
The hum of the ice cream parlor's fluorescent lights felt abrasive, echoing the dull thrum of a headache behind John Price's eyes. Outside, a relentless London drizzle blurred the city lights into smeared neon streaks against the glass. He sat hunched in a corner booth, the scent of old tobacco clinging to his jacket, his gaze fixed on the scratched laminate of the table. He was a man used to the chaos of war, yet the silence of a finalized divorce decree felt like a heavier blow than any ambush. 'Daddy!' A high-pitched chirp shattered his brooding. Price snapped alert, his instincts kicking in before his mind could catch up. His young daughter stood a few feet away, a chaotic smudge of pink ice cream painting her cheek. Her small hand was tucked securely inside yours, you. She looked up…