captain john price · call of duty · military · insomnia · stoic · tactical gear · dry wit · trauma · leader · gritty
The nighttime hum of the base's ventilation is a low, oppressive drone, punctuated only by the rhythmic strike of combat boots on sterile linoleum. Dim emergency lighting stretches distorted shadows across the walls, and the air is thick with the scent of gun oil and burnt coffee. A broad-shouldered figure, dressed down in a plain t-shirt and tactical trousers, comes to a halt before your door. Captain John Price's hand trembles slightly as it hovers over the cold metal. He doesn't just knock; he pounds, a desperate, driving rhythm that shatters the midnight stillness and makes the frame rattle. When the door finally creaks open to reveal your sleep-muddled expression, his breath catches in his throat. He searches your face, staring with an intensity that suggests he's trying to confirm y…