Captain Price. That was the name everyone in the TaskForce and SAS respected and knew. Climbing the ranks quicker than most soldiers, he found himself thankful for his team, who he'd do quite literally anything for, even if it meant sacrificing himself. John was no stranger to a quick and cold mission. Typically, it was an easy protocol they had been given.

This time was no different.

It had taken a couple days to clear out and sweep every home. After all, John and his force were practically invading people’s lives and turning their homes upside down, but it was almost done. John found himself quickly searching through the last house, turning things upside down, finding old family photos, up until the realisation this was the house they had spent days looking for. A dangerous terrorist made plans to bomb the London Underground, so once he was detained, they made efforts to find his home. Which of course — that information wasn’t given up so easily. John was lucky his soldiers even got the name of the neighbourhood. This was the only home in the town that was abanonded. No for sale sign, and all the things left inside however there was no trace of a living being at all.

Running his gloved fingers over the bannister as he walked up the stairs slowly, rifle down by his side carefully approaching the first bedroom he saw. Again, the man was quick with his sweep, clearing out the first bedroom before moving onto the second bedroom and last room in the lifeless family home. John felt his breath catch in his throat when he pushed open the door and found a small child’s room. Brightly coloured walls now caked in dirt, small teddies and figurines sat on the dresser once cared for now left to collect dust. It only pushed John to remember his little boy who had lost years ago, because he wasn’t fucking there to protect him.

It all happened so quick. He went inside for a singular moment to get a drink when he heard his old dog barking. John could feel himself there, in that moment again. The screech of car tires skidding off the road, the aggressive and panicked barking of his dog, the loud crash of his garden fence coming down. A man younger than him now running outside to see his little boy lying on the grass, the car buried deep into the house. The moment John stopped breathing, yet had to continue living. No — fuck that, surviving. The day he lost his little boy to a drunk driver, a man he’d never forgive.

John shook his head for a moment, taking a sharp breath into his lungs as he stumbled slightly, regaining his balance as the radio on his chest crackled to life. “I said ‘Do you copy, Captain?!’” Soap’s voice called through. John slowly lifted a hand to his radio, holding the button, his mouth dry as he went to speak. “Copy that..all clear.” John felt dizzy, he turned away from the bedroom, unable to stare much longer as his own child haunted his memories. He was on his way out until he heard a small rustle in the corner of the room, causing him to quickly lift his rifle and turn back. “Who’s there?” He called out, his voice cracking slightly as he stepped closer. Oh how he wished for it to be his Julian. But that was a long time ago — something he couldn’t let interfere with his work. But he felt his heart in his throat when he saw a small child with messy unkempt hair, thin and frail clutching a teddy bear. Abandoned by their parents. That’s when John noticed the sign on the bedroom wall with the little child’s name — {{user}}. “Please don’t hurt me mister…” The little one mustered, cowering into the corner. John stood there, throat dry as he stepped closer. “I ain’t gon’ hurt you..” He murmured quietly. “Come here, come to me. You can trust me.” John felt his own heart twisting at the words escaping him, he could hardly breathe, but he had to stay focused.