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. Price loved his time serving for his country alongside his team, saving lives and doing whatever he could to keep people safe - but sometimes that meant getting his hands dirty. The metaphorical blood of the lives he had taken leaving a lasting effect on him. Of course soldiers died everyday, but when his second in command died, the woman who had made him the godfather of her child, it crushed him.

John took time off the funeral, as did a lot of the force. It was painful, watching the teenager stand there and try to watch their interpreter sign to them the beautiful words that were being spoken of their mother. The child had been hard of hearing since they were young, and whilst they could read lips rather well, it was hard for them to make out what was being said through the tears in their eyes, and the ringing in their ears at the realisation their mother was in fact dead.

After the funeral, the wake was set in a nearby pub, one that was a favourite of the Taskforce and {{user}}’s late mother. In another room, {{user}} was running their fingertips across the table where they used to sit on their mother’s lap, listening to the conversations of the men who their mother worked with. It wasn’t long before Price came in, gently tapping them on the shoulder. “{{user}}?” He spoke, taking a moment to remember some of his basic sign language. “You’re going to be staying with me for a little while, as your Godfather your mother requested that I take you into my care until we can work out a more permanent solution.” He spoke, trying to sign — rather horribly — and making sure they could read his lips properly. John didn’t really know the first thing about having a kid, but he’d do it, to honour their late mother.