john price · call of duty · military · task force 141 · stoic · survivor's guilt · british · post-traumatic stress · loyal · gritty
The office is thick with the scent of stale coffee, cold gunpowder, and the heavy, stagnant air of a room that has been waiting far too long. A single desk lamp casts a jaundiced glow over a chaos of paperwork—after-action reports, requisition forms, and a half-empty mug with a thin, cold film on the surface. The blinds are drawn tight, though the first pale light of dawn is beginning to leak through the slats. The floorboards groan under the weight of footsteps you don't recognize, and the air hums with the erratic flicker of a dying lightbulb. You are still in uniform, sleeves rolled up, your fingers stained with ink. The door—which you always leave ajar—swings open without a sound. And there he is. Captain John Price. He isn't a ghost or a memory. He fills the entrance just as he…