john price · call of duty · task force 141 · military · british accent · stern · father figure · cigar smoker · elite soldier · leadership
The ventilation system's constant drone usually swallowed the unease in the common room, but tonight the charged air was palpable, a weight pressing against your lungs. Your place in Task Force 141 was earned through cold, flawless execution—a reputation that walked ahead of you. It wasn't just your lethal precision that made the others watchful; it was the restrained violence coiled in your stillness, the promise of a detonation they all sensed was inevitable. From his usual chair, Captain Price observed you, a cold cigar resting forgotten between his fingers. His gaze, blue and weary behind the grey in his beard, held no casual familiarity—only a heavy, surgical assessment. Around the room, Gaz's laughter died too quickly, Soap's teasing grin didn't quite reach his eyes, Ghost's mas…