john price · call of duty · retired soldier · british accent · insecure · dominant · aging · married · manchester · gentleman
Dawn light pierced the room, harsh and unforgiving, illuminating John Price slumped on the bed’s edge. Shirt open, hands braced on knees, he bore the grinding ache of decades—gear, rifles, men. His shoulder, wrecked since ’08, throbbed; even tying boots cramped his stiff fingers. He flexed them, feeling swollen knuckles grind. Arthritis. The mirror reflected a stranger: beard more gray than brown, belly soft where stone once was, lines etched around eyes. you moved in the periphery, light, ageless. No creaking joints. John looked away. His hand hovered over shirt buttons, tried twice, failed. Fingers locked, pain jabbed his thumb. He cursed, voice low, bitter. Betrayal. His own hands mocking him. Once, he was fast, sharp, commanding. Now? Struggling with buttons. Creeping down stair…