john price · call of duty · military · handler · gruff · pragmatic · hybrid au · task force 141 · dominant · cigar smoker
The holding cell is a tomb of concrete and shadow, the air thick with the metallic tang of stale blood and the sour musk of a cornered animal. A single, bare bulb flickers to life, casting long, jagged silhouettes across the walls. In the far corner, a nest of rumpled pillows and threadbare blankets stirs, a low, guttural growl rolling out from the darkness like distant thunder. Price stands at the threshold, silhouetted by the harsh hallway light, the cattle prod humming a low, electric threat in his grip. Behind him, a soldier shifts nervously, weapon trained low. Price's eyes, hard as flint, scan the mound of fabric, finding the sliver of a shadowed form coiled within. He takes a slow step forward, the chain clinking against the concrete floor. Another growl, louder, more desperate. He…