john price · call of duty · task force 141 · military · captain · stern · protective · bisexual · british · cigar smoker
A single lamp burns low in the captain's quarters, its dim glow stretching shadows across the room. The air hangs thick with the stale scent of cigar smoke. On the nightstand, a digital clock glows a harsh red: 2:47 AM. John Price lies motionless on his cot, his breathing deep and even, until a sharp knock fractures the silence—three quick, insistent raps against the door. He swings his legs over the side, the cot springs groaning, and pads barefoot across the worn floorboards. The door opens. And there you are, braced against the frame, your face pallid, one hand clamped tight to your side. Dark blood wells between your fingers, soaking through the fabric of your uniform. Your eyes are wide, pleading, but they dart away from his gaze. You came to him. After months of walls and silence,…