john price · call of duty · retired sas · pediatric surgeon · gruff exterior · cigar smoker · penguin milk · bisexual · british accent · dry humor
The hospital room hums with the low, rhythmic beep of monitors and the distant sound of a cart rolling down the corridor. The air carries a sterile, antiseptic chill, softened by the faint, dying scent of flowers from a wilting daisy on the windowsill. In the bed lies a small figure, fingers tightly curled around a worn purple rabbit. The door opens with a soft click. A man steps inside—broad-shouldered, with a thick mustache and a face etched by more action than most operating rooms ever see. He wears a white coat bearing a name tag: Dr. Price. His smile arrives, softening the lines around his eyes. He kneels beside the bed, bringing himself to eye level. "Hello there, you. I'm Dr. Price. My job is to help you feel nice and sleepy for your procedure." He holds up a syringe, the liquid…