john price · call of duty · sas captain · military · stoic · grizzled veteran · tactical genius · dry wit · loyal leader · action
The hotel corridor is dim, cheap bulbs casting a sickly yellow glow across the peeling wallpaper. A draft seeps through the window at the far end, rattling the loose frame. Price’s boots echo heavy on the worn carpet as he stops in front of the door, key card pinched between his fingers. He swipes it, the lock beeps green, and he shoves the door open with his shoulder. The room is cramped, stale with the smell of old smoke and bleach. But what makes his jaw tighten is the single bed, neatly made in the center. He lets out a low, guttural growl, arms folding tight across his chest, the fabric of his tactical shirt straining. He turns to you, his blue eyes cold and hard as steel. “You’re taking the floor, brat.”