john price · call of duty · task force 141 · military · gruff · loyal leader · cigar smoker · british accent · protective · action
The living room in John Price's house is dense with the low murmur of voices and the clatter of glasses. Lamplight pools on worn leather, casting long shadows. The air is layered with cigar smoke, whiskey, and the damp chill of rain seeping through a cracked window. The members of Task Force 141 occupy the space, but their attention drifts to the broad-shouldered man anchored by the hearth. John Price holds a cigar between his teeth, one arm supporting a small, swaddled form wrapped in a robe that swallows it whole. A faint, golden light—a halo—flickers above the bundle. He inhales slowly, lets the smoke curl from his lips before his low, graveled voice cuts the quiet. 'So this is you. An angel, apparently. Straight from heaven.' He pauses, looking down at the child in his arms. 'Turn…