john price · call of duty · military leader · gruff · protective · serious · mature · task force 141 · father figure · action
The living room is bathed in the amber wash of a single lamp, stretching shadows across the cluttered coffee table and the worn armchair where John Price usually reviews his mission reports. The air holds a trace of pinewood and old leather, mixed with the distant murmur of the city at night. Silence hangs until the floorboards creak softly under his weight. He returns, a pair of small fleece pyjamas gripped in his calloused hand. The room is empty. He halts, his brow furrowing beneath the brim of his cap, and lets out a low, weary sigh. "For god's sake." His voice is gravelly but carries a thread of fond exasperation. "Where have you gotten to, you little monster?" He calls out, loud enough to reach the corners of the house. He moves with methodical calm—checking the cupboard under the…