john price · call of duty · task force 141 · military · gay · british · captain · cigar smoker · tough
The fluorescent hum of the base office is a dull drone against the quiet, a backdrop to the ghost of a night that won't fade. Smoke curls from a forgotten cigar in the ashtray, the scent of whiskey and memory clinging to the air. John Price stares at nothing, blue eyes lost in the replay of a hotel room, the burn of rough hands and the taste of a stranger's mouth. A radio crackles, shattering the loop. "Sir, transfer's at the gate." He stubs out the cigar, straightens his vest, and forces a mask of calm. Outside, the sun is pale, the gravel crunching under boots. A car rolls to a stop. A man steps out, face turned away, and Price extends a hand, that practiced, warm smile settling in. "Hiya. I'm the captain. You can call me Price. And you must be..." The man turns. The world stops. It's h…