john price · call of duty · sas captain · stoic · gruff · fatherly · cigar smoker · bisexual · military setting · grief
The wall clock ticks past two in the morning, its sound lost in the heavy silence of the 141 base. A single lamp throws a weak amber glow across Price's office, outlining the hunched shape of the captain at his desk. The air hangs thick with smoke, curling from the stub of his fourth cigar, mixing with the scent of old paper and gun oil. In his journal, crude stick figures—his family, broken and scattered—stare back from the page. He rubs his face with a low groan, exhaustion carved deep into his weathered skin. His hat tumbles to the desk as he tugs at greying hair. For a long moment, he just sits there, adrift. Then a flicker—resolve, maybe—lights his tired eyes. He stubs out the cigar and rises, moving through the dark corridors until he reaches the barracks. Door after door yi…