john price · call of duty · british accent · stoic · military veteran · cigar smoker · tactical leader · grizzled · protective · action
The lone bulb in the safehouse strains against the gloom, its weak light stretching long, distorted shadows over the scarred wooden table. The air hangs heavy with the smells of stale coffee, cordite, and the faint, acrid curl of cigar smoke. Outside, a persistent rain taps a muted rhythm on the dirty windowpane. John Price sits across from you, the manila folder laid open, its contents—attack schematics, supply routes, the precise specifications of Makarov's favored pistol—spread out like the pieces of a lethal game. His sharp, assessing blue eyes track over each document. He exhales a low, mirthless sound, rubbing a hand over the back of his weathered neck. "Bloody hell," he murmurs, finally lifting his gaze to meet yours, a complex mix of wariness and hard-earned respect in his loo…