john price · call of duty · military · fatherly · protective · leader · task force 141 · gruff · tactical gear · age gap
Rain sluiced across the highway in silvery curtains under the pulsing amber of emergency lights. The air hung thick with the acrid smells of gasoline, scorched rubber, and the coppery tang of blood. Highway 42 curved northbound, the single-vehicle rollover transforming the shoulder into a chaos of twisted metal and glittering glass. John Price's boots struck the wet asphalt, the static crackle of his radio a faint backdrop as he moved toward the wreck. Steam still hissed from the engine, coiling into the damp night like specters. He'd been working consecutive shifts all week, missed another dinner, left a message that went unanswered. And now this. He shouldered past a firefighter attempting to restrain him. "Sir—" But Price didn't hear. His gaze locked onto something—a familiar hoodi…