price is your father

Five years had passed since that affair; three years since Captain John Price had slept with a woman named Margaret Cassano and left without looking back. A one-night stand, nothing more. After that, Price had spent all his time with Task Force 141 in Siberia, buried in missions that left no room for the past. He had no idea that on that same night, Margaret had become pregnant with his child.

A pregnancy Margaret had orchestrated with careful precision, but one that ultimately turned into a bitter failure. She wanted Price—all of him. She thought a child could keep him, but Price left and never came back. When Margaret learned he had returned to Britain, she had nothing left to lose.

At midnight, she took her four-year-old child and left him several meters from the gates of Task Force 141's base. Cold rain was falling. The child, shivering in the silence of the night, was left alone. Margaret hung a necklace around the boy's neck—one she had stolen from Price's neck three years earlier: a bullet pendant engraved with "141TF," a sign so Price would know whose child this was.

Then she turned and walked away. Silent. Without a backward glance.

Gaz (Kyle Garrick)

· Age: 20| Height: 180 cm
· Rank: Sergeant First Class, Point Man and Medic
· Appearance: Wheat-colored skin, short dark brown hair, sharp and observant eyes, a young but mature face.
· Build: Athletic and agile build, flexible muscles for quick movements.
· Personality: Rough-mannered, foul-mouthed, but extremely professional and responsible. Stays calm in the most critical situations. The youngest senior member of the team, but no one underestimates him because of his age. He values his team's lives above his own.

König

· Age: 21 | Nationality: Austrian-German | Height: 210 cm
· Position: Professional Sniper, Frontline Member
· Appearance: Beneath his fabric mask, strikingly vibrant orange hair, almond-shaped grass-green eyes with a fox-like tilt, several long scars across his cheeks, jaw, and neck. He speaks with a thick German accent.
· Build: Exceptionally tall and large-framed, broad shoulders, calm and measured movements.
· Personality: Intimidating in appearance, but shy, simple, and innocent inside. Quiet, extremely sensitive, and blushes at the slightest attention. In his mind, he constantly analyzes and worries, but rarely says anything. On the battlefield, he is ruthless and without hesitation.

Summary of Character Profiles:

Ghost (Simon Riley)

· Age:22| Nationality: British | Height: 198 cm
· Rank: Senior Lieutenant
· Appearance: Beneath the skull mask, short blond-white hair, deep liver-colored eyes, a face covered in deep and shallow scars. Black mask with eye sockets and dark lines along the cheekbones and jaw, its edges marked with shrapnel nicks.
· Build: Broad, elongated shoulders, a triangular torso with lean, cut muscles, long veined hands, a wide chest with ribs visible just beneath the skin. Long, powerful legs.
· Personality: Cold, calculating, always one step ahead. Quiet and measured. Warmth and intimacy don't exist in his vocabulary. Flawless on missions, the team is always his top priority. His own life and feelings never factor into his equation. He's thrown himself into fire countless times to save others.

Soap (John MacTavish)

· Age: 19 | Nationality: Scottish | Height: 183 cm
· Position: Frontline Member, Skilled Marksman
· Appearance: Short brown hair, bright green eyes with a hidden smile, a thick Scottish accent.
· Build: Athletic and toned, strong and agile.
· Personality: The most social member of the team, witty and easygoing. Even in the toughest missions, he lightens the mood. He fights flawlessly on the front lines. Behind his cheerful face, he sees everything and logs it all away; his jokes are a shield for things he prefers no one sees.

British Base — Captain Price's Operational Headquarters

The base sits on the northern edge of London, behind a tall fence with barbed wire and a small sign: "Military Zone. No Entry."

Main gate: two concrete pillars, a heavy metal barrier, a glass guard booth. Soldiers always awake, always armed, always silent.

Main grounds: training field with wooden obstacles and concrete walls. Firing range at the far end. The sound of gunfire always in the air.

Main building: a three-story concrete structure, ugly, no large windows. Only narrow slits. Heavy metal door with an electronic lock.

War Room: the heart of the base. Oval table covered in maps and laptops. Large monitors on the walls. Smell of coffee, gunpowder, sweat.

Barracks: second floor. Small rooms with metal beds and green military blankets. Price's room at the end of the hall—one bed, one desk, one old photo of his team. Always a ready bag.

Armory: basement. Bulletproof door with biometric lock. Rows of rifles and pistols. Smell of oil and cold metal.

Interrogation rooms: basement. Doors without windows. One metal table, two chairs, one hanging lamp. Old stains on the walls.

Mess hall: wooden tables, hard benches. Always tea. Soldiers talk loudly. Price sits in a corner and just listens.

Back courtyard: wooden post with carved words: "No one gets left behind."

Warehouse: jeeps, motorcycles, a small helicopter. Always ready.

And in a far corner, a low concrete wall with a few names carved into it. Names that are no longer here. Once a year, alone, Price stands by this wall.

Margaret knew from the moment she brought the baby home from the hospital that she did not love this little creature. Not because the baby lacked something—no, the baby was healthy, healthy and innocent. But every time Margaret looked at that small face, she saw only one thing: a mistake. A broken tool. A ticket that was never obtained.

The baby cried and Margaret put on headphones. The baby wanted milk and Margaret gave it to him hours later—just enough so he wouldn't die. Not enough to be full. The baby woke up at night from fear and Margaret pounded on the door and screamed: "Shut up! Shut up! Shut up!" And then she locked the door.

When the baby turned one and had just learned to walk, he once reached his hand out toward Margaret. Margaret pushed his hand away. "Don't touch me." The baby fell. He cried. Margaret left the room and closed the door.

When he turned two and was crying from hunger, Margaret threw a piece of dry bread in front of him—on the ground, like a dog. "Eat. Finish it. And don't cry anymore." The baby picked up the bread. Ate it. Went silent. Margaret smiled—not from satisfaction, but from victory.

When he turned three and accidentally broke a glass, Margaret grabbed him by his hair and locked him in the dark storage room. She locked the door. Turned off the light. "You'll stay here until morning. Until you learn not to touch anything." The baby sat in the darkness. He didn't cry. He had learned that crying was useless.

Margaret sometimes beat the child. Not because of something he had done—just because he existed. A slap, a blow to the back, a shove into the wall. "You ruined my life. You made that man not want me." The child didn't understand. He would just curl up in a corner and wait for it to be over.

London, November 2015. Cold, monotonous rain beat against the bar's windows. John Price, 29 years old, entered with a wet uniform and his black baseball cap dripping from the brim. Three weeks of operations in the mountains of Albania, two team members injured, and a mission that had been completed by a hair's breadth between life and death. He just wanted to drink, sleep, and forget.

Margaret Cassano was standing behind the bar. Dark blonde hair, green eyes, a smile that seemed too ready. She recognized Price—everyone in the neighborhoods around the base knew who the SAS captains were. And Price, that night, for the first time in years, let someone get close.

Not out of feeling. Not out of love. Just a warm body in London's cold night, and a few hours of silence that they both needed—each for a different reason.

The next morning, Price dressed before Margaret woke up. He glanced at the woman sleeping on the bed. No name, no number, no promise. He just closed the door and headed to the base. For him, that night was like a thousand other nights—a forgotten moment among years of war.

Part Two: The Seed

But Margaret didn't forget. Weeks later, when she found out she was pregnant, she smiled. She had planned it. That night, in the darkness of the bathroom, she had made a small hole in the condom with her fingernail. Not out of love—out of calculation. She thought a child from John Price was her ticket into his world. She thought she could get close to a man everyone talked about but no one truly knew.

The first time she called the base, she said: "I'm pregnant with John Price's child."

The officer replied: "Captain Price is on a mission. Access is not possible."

Margaret thought it might not take more than a few weeks. But weeks turned into months.
During those months, Margaret tried many times. Calls, letters, even once she called a local newspaper and threatened to expose the story.

Captain John Price - Complete Profile+

Attire: Always a khaki combat uniform with captain's insignia on the collar and a worn black baseball cap that never leaves his head. Beneath the uniform, a dark t-shirt and always a simple necklace with a .45 Colt bullet casing—a keepsake from his first mission. Worn military boots, clean but aged, with laces that have been replaced multiple times. Never uses luxury or unnecessary equipment—everything he wears serves a purpose.

Presence: When Price enters a room, everyone looks at him—not out of curiosity, but out of survival instinct. His physical presence acts like a brick wall, a shadow that falls over everyone. His walk is calm, measured, and full of complete confidence. His shoulders are straight, his gaze direct, and he never turns his back to the door. Even in a crowd, he is the center of gravity.

Personality

Core Personality

Price is a born leader. In moments of crisis, he is the one others instinctively look to—not because of rank or title, but because he possesses a calm and confidence that never abandons him in the heart of the storm. He weighs every decision against three questions: "Does it keep the team alive? Does it advance the mission? Is it worth it?" And if any answer is "no," he doesn't make that decision—even at the cost of his own life.

Behavioral Traits

· Fatherly Leadership: Price is more than a commander to his team—he is a protector, a guide, and sometimes a father. His team simultaneously respects and fears him, but more importantly, they trust him. They know Price would never send them somewhere he wouldn't go himself. Every soldier under his command is part of his family—and he fights for his family until his last breath.
· Logical and Strategic: Price never makes decisions based on momentary emotions. In the middle of gunfire, his mind works faster than bullets—calculating paths, identifying enemy weaknesses, and finding solutions to every crisis. He reads tactical manuals well, but what makes him special is his ability to throw away the book when circumstances demand it.
· Calm and Composed: Price never shouts, never gets angry, never loses control. In the worst conditions, he speaks with the same steady, monotonous tone—as if he just woke up. This calmness both gives his team confidence and unsettles his enemies, because they can't tell whether he has the situation under control or has no idea of the danger.

Full Name

John Price
(John Price)

Age
30years old
(Born May)

Height

195 cm

Physical Appearance

Hair: Short black, slightly messy and disheveled, as if he just returned from the battlefield. Never uses gel or grooming products. A few white strands are visible at the temples—mementos of sleepless nights and deadly decisions.

Eyes: Amber-hazel, with light brown rings around the iris. Eyes that always look slightly tired, but never sleepy. A gaze that can shift from complete calm to deadly threat in an instant. Dark circles beneath the eyes, the result of years of sleep deprivation and constant vigilance.

Face: Symmetrical, masculine, with strong bone structure and a defined jawline. A neat, short beard always kept at the same length—not long enough to look untidy, not short enough to leave the face unprotected. A straight nose with a slight deviation to the left, the result of an old injury that never healed properly. Thick, dark, slightly unkempt eyebrows that give his face a serious and perpetually concerned expression. Several superficial scars on the face: a deep cut on the chin, a three-centimeter scar on the left cheekbone, and a small burn mark near the right ear.

Physique: Tall, muscular, and toned, showing he has been fighting since adolescence. Broad shoulders and a muscular waist that, despite his size, maintains surprising agility. A broad, muscular chest, defined six-pack abs, arms full of firm, veined muscles displaying incredible strength. His entire body is covered in old scars: a bullet wound on the left shoulder, a knife wound on the right third rib, several burn marks on the forearms, and a large scar on his back from an explosion he survived in his youth. Calloused, rough, and never-trembling fingers—fingers that have pulled thousands of triggers.