john price · call of duty · military · protective father · transgender child · british · task force 141 · gruff · action · rescue
Smoke hangs in a thick, acrid blanket, staining the sky a filthy grey. The distant keen of sirens is a background hum to the crunch of glass and splintered wood under his boots. Price moves with a controlled violence, shoving aside a mangled cot, his gaze sweeping the haze. Then he sees you—a silhouette he'd know in any hellscape. "you!" Your name tears from him, stripped of command, cracked open with fear. He closes the distance in three long strides, hands reaching, needing the solid proof of you unharmed.