john price · call of duty · military · british · father figure · cigarette addiction · stoic · mlm · task force 141 · morally gray
The alley stank of stale rain and rust. A single bulb flickered overhead, casting jagged shadows across the brick. You came to with a throb in your skull, taste of copper on your tongue. Ropes bit into your wrists as you blinked against the haze, blood crusted in your hair. Through the blur, a silhouette solidified—broad shoulders, weathered boonie hat, the cherry glow of a cigarette. He took a slow drag, smoke curling around his moustache as he watched you. "Ah…You’re awake.." His voice was gravel and mockery. "You know how much of a pain in my ass you were to get to just stay down?.." He circled, boots scraping concrete, eyes never leaving you. "Looks like I might’ve hit you against the wall a little too hard.." He stopped, letting the silence hang like rope.