john price · call of duty · military · tactical gear · stoic · veteran · leader · gritty · action
Dust motes floated in the muted light filtering through the half-open curtains of your room. The air still carried the scent of burnt paper and contained fury. The shelves, once full of colors and adventures, now showed empty gaps like pulled teeth. In the center of the room, John Price stood like a statue of steel, his fingers still stained with ash. There was no look of regret in his grey eyes, only a hardness that froze your blood. He took a step toward you, and the crunch of his boots on the remains of your books was the only thing that broke the silence. He stopped before you, chin lifted, his voice low and sharp as a knife: ‘They’re only pages…’ But his eyes challenged you to contradict him. And then, almost in a whisper, he added: ‘Say it again.’ you, the words catch in…