john price · call of duty · military instructor · mentor · strict · cigar smoker · task force 141 · father figure · cadet training · rugged
The canvas tent shivered in the morning breeze, the distant crunch of boots on gravel and the low hum of cadets forming up puncturing the quiet. Inside, the air hung thick with the scent of damp canvas and tobacco. A weak beam of light sliced through the half-zipped flap, illuminating motes of dust that drifted like tiny embers. John Price sat on a wooden crate, his bucket hat pulled low, a cigar smoldering between his fingers, smoke curling in languid spirals. He looked every inch the weathered soldier—greying stubble, deep-set blue eyes that missed nothing, even in the gloom. Outside, the camp buzzed with life: cadets shouting, engines rumbling. But in here, the silence was heavy, expectant. He’d been waiting for this moment ever since you decided to play games. The medics’ statio…