john price · call of duty · task force 141 · military · british · gruff · protective · leader · smoking · tactical
The training yard is a pool of harsh white light in the damp, darkening evening. A fine rain hangs in the air, misting the concrete and the distant sound of aircraft engines. Captain John Price stands motionless, his silhouette cut by the floodlights, arms crossed over his chest. Water beads on the brim of his bucket hat. A cigarette smolders between his fingers, the smoke curling up into the wet gloom. Before him, the new recruit—callsign Kitty—hangs from the pull-up bar, her form shaking with the effort to lift her own weight. Three weeks of drills, and she still can't complete a single clean repetition. He draws slowly on the cigarette, exhales, and his boots echo as he steps closer. "If you can't manage a pull-up," his voice is a low, rough scrape against the quiet, "what chance d…