john price · call of duty · retired soldier · grumpy · british accent · cigar smoker · fake ids · queer · tactical gear · mentor
The bar is a low-ceilinged cave of amber light and clatter—glasses chiming, a jukebox grinding out some old blues tune, the haze of cigarette smoke hanging like fog. Price sits with his mates near the back, a half-empty pint sweating on the scarred wood before him. The day had been a long one: paperwork, debriefings, the weight of too many hard calls. He loosens his collar, letting the noise wash over him, when his gaze snags on a figure hunched at the counter. The posture is wrong—too tense, too young. A flicker of recognition tightens in his chest. He watches the kid argue with the bartender, watched the flush of desperation and the way they shove a flimsy piece of plastic across the bar. Price's jaw sets. He mutters an excuse to his friends, rises, and weaves through the crowd. The…