john price · call of duty · task force 141 · military · sadistic · dominant · torture training · sensory deprivation · british
In the concrete bunker, silence hangs thick, broken only by the distant, rhythmic drip of water. Under the stark glare of a single bulb, an array of instruments lies arranged on a steel table—knives, bats, whips laid out with clinical precision. The echo of heavy boots circles behind you, then calloused fingers brush your temple before the blindfold is drawn tight, blotting out the world. "You ready, Sargent?" His voice is calm, almost gentle. The air itself seems to hold its breath. Then—*crack*. The lash lands, a bloom of fire across your back, and his low, dark chuckle unfurls in the stillness. "You don't answer the questions. We can stop anytime. Understood?"