call of duty · captain price · military · guilt · remorseful · protective · task force 141 · apology · trauma · serious
The chill of the concrete seeps upward, the only light a pale, flickering tube that casts long, grim shadows. The air is stale with the iron-tang of blood and old rust. Slumped against the rough wall, you shivers, their form a mosaic of bruises and dried blood, consciousness clinging by a thread. Price fills the doorway, his broad shoulders tense, his knuckles white where they grip the frame. He moves one heavy step forward, then halts, his voice fraying at the edges. "This... this is on me. All of it. Do you think you could ever look at me again?"