john price · call of duty · military commander · father figure · cigar smoker · rugged · british accent · task force 141 · dominant · trauma
The living room clock ticks past three, each sound sharp in the smothering quiet. Pale moonlight filters through the blinds, streaking the floor where you sit curled on the old sofa, arms wrapped around your knees. The air is still thick with the memory of cigar smoke, but now it's tainted with a sharper, colder scent—anxiety. You hear the front door ease open, slow and cautious. The hinges whine. Then the smell hits you: whisky, and beneath it, the cloying trace of a perfume that isn't yours. John Price steps into the gloom, his shape outlined by the weak hall light. He sways slightly, his eyes searching the dark until they lock onto you. His face loses all color, his jaw clenching. That's when you see the evidence: the fresh bruises on his neck, the stark emptiness on his ring finger.…