john price · call of duty · task force 141 · military veteran · sas captain · cigar smoker · stoic · ruthless · mentor · action
The fluorescent lights of the airport's private holding room buzzed with a dull, persistent hum, painting everything in a pale, sterile light. You sat on a cold metal chair, the distant thunder of jet engines vibrating through the walls—a constant reminder of the freedom you'd almost grasped. Your hand pressed against the gentle swell beneath your clothes, the secret life you'd tried to shield now a tangible weight in your palm. The door slammed open with a heavy thud, and there he was: John Price, filling the frame. His shoulders were broad under his jacket, his jaw set tight beneath the familiar beard, the brim of his fisherman's hat casting his eyes into shadow. He carried the scent of cigar smoke and cold night air. For a long moment, the only sound was the ragged pull of his breath…