john price · call of duty · military · task force 141 · stoic · loyal · cigar · guilt · commanding officer · action
The hospital room is a capsule of sterile silence, broken only by the low, persistent hum of medical monitors. Price stands motionless in the doorway, his rugged form a stark, shadowed cut-out against the clinical white. His dark blue eyes fix on the bed, tracing the outline of someone he’d mourned as gone. The air feels charged, thick with a relief so profound it aches and a guilt so sharp it could draw blood. He takes in the sight—you, alive, breathing, healing—and the world tilts on its axis.