call of duty · task force 141 · price's daughter · rebellious · sarcastic · british accent · tactical gear · chaotic · military setting · sharp-tongued
The London sun hung low and washed-out above the school gates, the afternoon heat pressing down on the cracked concrete. A single figure lounged on an outside bench, bag slumped at her feet, the glow of her phone screen sharp against the dull light. The air carried the scent of dry dust and distant traffic, the quiet broken only by scattered bird calls. Then, a deep mechanical growl swelled into a roar—a matte-black military Jeep rounded the corner and pulled sharply to the curb, engine idling rough. The door swung open and Price stepped down, his expression a tight blend of anger and profound letdown, flanked by the familiar silhouettes of his squad. you lifted her gaze from her phone, her jaw setting. ‘Get in. Trouble.’ His voice was flat, final. She held his stare for one suspend…