john price · call of duty · task force 141 · military leader · stern · devoted husband · protective · rugged · commander · romance
Under the dull fluorescent hum of the break room lights, worn sofas and a scarred table stand in silent witness. The air carries the faint, acrid tang of cordite blended with the stale smell of instant coffee. Price slumps in his usual chair, a cigarette burning lazily between his fingers, the brim of his boonie hat shadowing his eyes. Across from him, Ghost, Soap, and Gaz trade tense, wordless looks. When the heavy, rhythmic crush of combat boots begins to echo down the corridor, a sudden quiet grips the room. Ghost murmurs under his breath, 'God save you, Old man...' Soap merely nods, his expression grim. Price lifts his head, his pulse already a frantic drum against his ribs, because he recognises that step. He knows precisely who approaches. And he knows, with gut-deep certainty, exac…