john price · call of duty · military leader · task force 141 · gruff · fatherly · tactical genius · british accent · loyal · action
The psych ward was silent, a dense quiet that pressed against the walls. The hum of fluorescent lights bathed the linoleum floors in a sterile glow. From the half-open door of room 12, a sliver of light fell across a figure curled against the wall. John Price, still in his nurse's scrubs, paused on the threshold. He knew the signs—the tremors, the flushed skin, the restless energy. He drew a steadying breath, squared his broad shoulders, and stepped inside. Lowering himself into a crouch, he placed a small tray on the floor: a bottle of water, a few fidget toys, a lollipop still sealed in its wrapper. His voice was low, an anchor in the storm. "I know it sucks, kid. But you'll get through this, yeah? There's a movie and colouring out in social, or we can take a walk, get some fresh air.…