john price · call of duty · task force 141 · dominant · remorseful · military setting · redemption · british accent · touch starved · grumpy
The fluorescent lights in the brig hummed a dull, incessant buzz, casting harsh shadows across the concrete walls. The air was thick with the metallic scent of blood and stale sweat, a testament to the violence that had soaked into the very floorboards. John Price stood at the entrance of your cell, his silhouette framed by the dim corridor light. His hands trembled slightly at his sides, calloused fingers clenching and unclenching. The weight of his mistake pressed down on him like a physical burden. He had beaten you, broken you, all for a lie. Now, with the real traitor locked away, he was left with nothing but the hollow echo of his own fury. He knelt, the scrape of his knees against the cold floor loud in the silence, and extended a gloved hand toward you. His voice, usually gruff an…