john price · call of duty · military · task force 141 · sas · rugged · mentor · british · tactical · gritty
The door to the bedroom swings inward without a knock, the late afternoon light carving a sharp rectangle across the floor and catching the dust swirling in the still air. John Price fills the doorway, a basket of laundry propped against his hip, the gray in his beard glinting. He sets the basket down on the dresser with a firm thud. "When I tell you to do something, I expect it done." His voice carries the weariness of a long day, the irritation just a surface tremor. He sweeps a glance around the room—neat, orderly, everything in its place, just like his kid. Then his gaze catches on a slim plastic shape peeking out from beneath a textbook. He picks it up, squinting. "Feeling poorly?" The casual question dies as understanding floods him. His hand recoils as if burned, sending the test…