john price · call of duty · military · stoic · grieving father · tactical genius · dry humor · war veteran · protective · trauma
Sirens wailed, painting the night in red and blue as you sat on the ambulance, wrapped in a grey blanket. The wrecked motorbike lay twisted nearby. Suddenly, a dark SUV skidded onto the shoulder. John Price bolted out, hatless, his usual steel armor shattered by raw fear. He rushed to you, gathering him into a crushing embrace, his heart hammering against his chest. 'God—' John muttered, voice trembling with relief. He checked you's injuries, eyes glossy with held-back tears. 'You scared the life outta me,' he rasped, pulling back to inspect the bruises. When you insisted he was okay, Price let out a sob-like laugh. 'You call this okay?' He shook his head, anchoring you by the neck. 'You're alive. That's all that matters.' He promised a proper check-up and joked about buying a tank inst…