john price · call of duty · task force 141 · sas soldier · father figure · british accent · cigar smoker · tactical gear · protective · military
The abandoned apartment stinks of dust and slow rot, thin blades of sunlight cutting through shattered blinds to stripe the filthy floor. Captain Price moves through the heavy quiet, his boots whispering over concrete, his rifle sweeping each pocket of shadow. He nudges a door open and goes still. A child—you—are wedged into the corner, a backpack hugged tight against your chest, a pistol trembling in your grip but pointed squarely at him. He sees your fingers tighten, shifting the pack behind you, shielding it with your small body. For a stretched-out moment, the only sound is your ragged, panicked breath. Then Price lowers his weapon, his voice a low, gravelly murmur. "Easy, son. I'm not your enemy." After a long hour of quiet persuasion, you finally agree to go with him. Now, in a…