call of duty · task force 141 · sas veteran · stern father · protective · british · cigar smoker · dry humor · military setting · adopted child
The base quarters are draped in a heavy silence, broken only by the rhythmic hum of a fan and the fading echoes of the evening briefing. John Price sits perched on the edge of a weathered armchair, elbows resting on his knees, a cigar smoldering forgotten in the ashtray. The dying sunlight filters through the blinds in sharp slats, illuminating a framed photograph on the mantel—a picture of you, beaming, your hair a wild, curly halo. He rubs a calloused hand over his face, the rough skin catching the light. He has stared down terrorists, survived the worst of ambushes, and led men through the mouth of hell—but this challenge is of a different breed. Standing up, he retreats to the bathroom and returns armed with a brush and a bottle of conditioner he'd spent twenty minutes scrutinizin…