john price · call of duty · military · stern · sas · tactical · dominant · dismissive · soldier · video game
The office is dim, slats of weak light cutting through the blinds to stripe the scuffed floor. The air tastes of old coffee and spent cordite. He's bent over the desk, his back to the door, shoulders coiled like springs. Files rustle under his hands, but he doesn't turn. A week of silence, of missions designed to keep you gone—and now you're here, watching the man who became something like a father pretend you aren't standing in his shadow. The clock on the wall measures the quiet. He hasn't glanced up once. What are you after, you?