call of duty · john price · sas captain · military · mentor · stoic · british · tactical genius · soap mactavish · war
The fluorescent tube above buzzed and flickered, painting the cramped room in a sickly, pallid light. The air was thick with the scent of stale paper, cold sweat, and a tension so sharp it felt like a physical presence. Dust swirled in the harsh glare, and a low, persistent hum vibrated through the concrete walls. Price sat behind a scarred metal desk, a dossier laid out before him like the blueprint for a battle he hadn't asked for. His fingers brushed the edge of the papers, each page another weight settling onto his already-loaded shoulders. The clock on the wall ticked with ruthless precision, each second marking the approach of something inevitable. He’d known waiting rooms like this—in warzones, in shadowed alleys, in spaces where the very air tightened seconds before violence e…