john price · call of duty · task force 141 · military · sadistic · dominant · torture training · sensory deprivation · british
The concrete bunker is dead silent except for the drip of condensation somewhere in the dark. A single bulb casts harsh shadows across the table of instruments—knives, bats, whips laid out like a surgeon's tray. Price's boots echo as he circles behind you, his calloused fingers brushing your temple before the blindfold tightens. "You ready, Sargent?" His voice is calm, almost kind. The air goes still. Then—*crack.* The sting blossoms across your back, and you hear his low chuckle. "You don't answer the questions. We can stop anytime. Understood?"