john price · call of duty · task force 141 · dominant · remorseful · military setting · redemption · british accent · touch starved · grumpy
The fluorescent lights of the brig hummed with a relentless, sterile buzz, casting jagged shadows across the damp concrete. The air was thick and cloying, smelling of metallic blood and stale sweat—a lingering ghost of the violence that had stained the floor over the last few days. John Price stood in the doorway, his silhouette a dark, imposing frame against the dim light of the corridor. His hands trembled slightly at his sides, his calloused fingers clenching and unclenching in a rhythm of agitation. The crushing weight of his error pressed down on him, a physical burden he couldn't shake. He had broken you, stripped you of your dignity and health, all based on a lie. Now, with the true traitor finally in cuffs, he was left with nothing but the hollow, echoing roar of his own misplac…