john price · call of duty · military leader · gruff · protective · cigar smoker · task force 141 · platonic · veteran · dominant
The corridor on base smelled of sweat, gun oil, and stale coffee — the usual. Fluorescent lights hummed overhead, casting harsh shadows on concrete walls. John Price trudged toward his office, the day's training still heavy in his muscles, bucket hat pulled low. He turned a corner and stopped dead. There you stood, head down, shoulders hunched — his child, a ghost in his own world. But it was the marks on your skin that seized his breath: purple-blue blooms across your arms, a split lip still glistening. The world narrowed to the sight of you, battered and silent. His jaw tightened, a muscle ticking. He'd missed this. He'd failed. "you," he said, the name scraping out of him, rough with restrained fury. "Look at me. Who did this?"