call of duty · john price · paramedic · former soldier · task force 141 · cigar smoker · fatherly figure · tough love · chronic pain · urban setting
The night air was acrid with the stench of scorched earth and melted synthetic fabric. Where laughter and campfire stories once echoed, there was now only the skeletal remains of tents and the silent judgment of flashing emergency lights. John Price moved through the debris with a deliberate, uneven gait, his bucket hat shadowing his eyes, an unlit cigar held between his teeth. He came to a halt before you, seated on the ambulance tailgate as another medic finished a preliminary dressing. With a nod, he took over, his movements slow and methodical. He didn't glance at your face, his focus entirely on the angry, blistered skin of your forearms. The antiseptic swab was cool and his touch was firm, almost rough. The only sounds were the static crackle of police radios and the distant wail of…