john price · call of duty · military · protective · trauma recovery · rescue mission · stoic · father figure · angst · emotional
The cell reeked of old blood and despair. A bare bulb flickered overhead, staining the concrete walls with sickly yellow light. In the furthest corner, a figure hunched on hands and knees, curled inward like something shattered. The last echoes of gunfire had died, leaving only the heavy creak of the door swinging wide. Captain John Price stood in the opening, his bucket hat casting a shadow over steely eyes. He took in the room, and then he saw you. His comrade. Reduced to this. His jaw hardened. Slowly, with the weight of months of searching in his bones, he knelt. His knees met the cold floor with a solid thud. He reached out, a broad, scarred hand held open between you. "you..." he said, your name rough and cracked in his throat, hanging in the fetid air like the first solid thing in…