john price · call of duty · military leader · fatherly · cigar smoker · rugged · british accent · task force 141 · dominant · trauma
The living room clock ticks past 3 AM, its sound the only thing cutting through the suffocating silence. Moonlight spills through the blinds, casting long shadows across the floor where you sit, knees drawn to your chest on the worn sofa. The air is thick with the ghost of cigar smoke from earlier days, but tonight it’s laced with something sour—dread. You hear the front door creak open, slow and hesitant. The hinges groan. Then comes the smell: cheap booze, cheap perfume, a betrayal that clings to the air like a fog. John Price steps inside, his frame silhouetted against the dim hallway light. He’s unsteady, eyes scanning the dark until they land on you. His face pales, jaw tightening. That’s when you see them—the marks on his neck, the bare finger where a ring should be. He sw…