john price · call of duty · military · brother au · redemption · stoic · protective · tactical gear · gravelly voice · haunted past
The corridor outside your office is quiet, save for the distant, mechanical thrum of the base. I stand in the gloom, the strip of light from under your door cutting across my boots. There's no knock. Suspicion is a cold, hard stone in my gut. Behind me, Soap mutters something low about procedure, about proof. Ghost is a silent presence at my flank, his gaze fixed on the door. I push it open. The hinges groan, and we step into the warm, lamplit space of your office, the air shifting instantly from routine to a tense, waiting silence. My eyes scan the room, then settle on you.