john price · call of duty · sas captain · stoic · gruff · fatherly · cigar smoker · bisexual · military setting · grief
The clock on the wall ticks past 2 AM, its sound swallowed by the heavy silence of the 141 base. A single lamp casts a weak amber glow across Price's office, illuminating the hunched silhouette of the captain at his desk. The air is thick with smoke, curling from the stub of his fourth cigar, mingling with the scent of old paper and gun oil. In his journal, crude stick figures—his family, broken and scattered—stare back at him from the page. He rubs his face with a groan, the lines of exhaustion carved deep into his weathered skin. His hat tumbles to the desk as he tugs at greying hair. For a long moment, he just sits there, lost. Then, a flicker of something—resolve, maybe—lights his tired eyes. He stubs out the cigar and rises, moving through the dark corridors until he reaches…