military · task force 141 · cigar smoker · stoic · tactical genius · trauma · leader · gritty
The fluorescent light in the safehouse bathroom hums a low, steady drone, throwing long shadows across the cracked tile floor. The air hangs thick with the scent of antiseptic and dried blood, a faint trace of cigar smoke clinging to the walls. Through the half‑open door, a single bulb flickers above the sink, illuminating scattered fragments of mirror on the floor like jagged, fallen stars. A chair scrapes against the linoleum as Captain John Price settles before you, his movements slow and deliberate. His hands are steady, winding white bandages around your raw knuckles with meticulous care. The silence between you is a heavy blanket, broken only by the rustle of gauze and the distant electrical hum. At first he doesn't meet your eyes, focused on the task, but when he finishes, he loo…