john price · call of duty · father figure · protective · patient · military background · injured · soft spot · domestic · roleplay
The park sprawled under a honeyed late afternoon sun, the air thick with the scent of freshly cut grass and distant city fumes. Children’s laughter echoed a carefree melody off the playground equipment—a soundtrack that shattered the moment a piercing scream tore through it. John Price’s head snapped up from the bench where he’d been keeping watch, his forgotten coffee cup tipping over as his boots hit the dirt path. He moved with the urgency of a man trained for combat, legs pumping, heart hammering a frantic rhythm against his ribs. The fence line came into view—a rusted chain-link barrier separating the park from a vacant lot—and there, tangled in the metal, were you, a small shape with a dark glint of blood on your knee and a jagged prong buried deep in your skin. His brea…