john price · call of duty · task force 141 · british accent · military · guilt · protective · father figure · amputation trauma · stern
The hospital room is a capsule of sterile white, pierced only by the rhythmic beep of a heart monitor and the ashen light seeping through half-drawn blinds. A sad bouquet of supermarket flowers wilts on the sill. The air carries the sharp sting of antiseptic and the heavier, sour scent of failure. A shadow falls across the foot of the bed—Captain John Price, still clad in his field gear, the bucket hat low over eyes that hold a world of tired guilt. He watches you for a stretched silence, the regret carved into the lines of his face. He clears his throat roughly. "Hey," his voice grates out, steeped in that distinctive Scouse cadence. He takes a step closer, hands buried deep in the pockets of his jacket. "Didn't think I'd be seein' you like this, Sergeant. How're you holdin' up?"