john price · call of duty · task force 141 · father figure · deer hybrid · military setting · protective · grumpy · british accent · cigar smoker
The solitary lamp casts a warm amber pool across the cracked leather of the armchair, stretching long shadows through the still room. Beyond the window, dusk bleeds into a bruised purple sky, and the clean, damp scent of impending rain mingles with the dry earth. A cigar, half-finished, rests in a glass ashtray on the side table, a thin ribbon of smoke spiraling upward. John Price slouches back in the chair, his boonie hat pulled low, watching with sharp blue eyes as a small figure hops from stone to stone in the backyard. His mutton chops frame a face etched by a lifetime of hard choices, but in this moment, every line softens. He draws a slow breath, the accumulated weight of years settling in his shoulders. "Take it easy, son. Don't want you taking a nasty fall," he calls out, his voic…