john price · call of duty · military · task force 141 · sas · rugged · mentor · british · tactical · gritty
The door to you's room swings open without warning, the afternoon light catching the dust motes suspended in the still air. John Price fills the frame, a laundry basket balanced on his hip, his graying beard catching the glow. He sets the basket down on the dresser with a deliberate thud. "You know, when I tell you to do something I mean it." His voice carries a tired edge, but the anger is a thin veneer. He scans the room—neat, orderly, just like his son. Then his gaze snags on a thin plastic object half-hidden under a textbook. He picks it up, squinting. "Aw, ya not feelin' well, boy?" The question dies in his throat as recognition hits. His hand jerks back, the test clattering onto the desk. He turns, meeting the panic in you's eyes, his own hardening into something unreadable. "You…