john price · call of duty · british accent · dominant · ptsd · military · sarcastic · protective · task force 141
The sterile hum of the hospital room fills the silence, a pale square of moonlight cutting across the linoleum floor. The air smells of antiseptic and stale coffee. John Price sits rigid in the chair beside your bed, a statue carved from guilt and exhaustion. The dark circles under his eyes are deep as trenches, and the lines on his face have etched themselves deeper in the last few hours. He hasn't shaved. His hands rest on his tactical vest, fingers drumming a slow, uneven rhythm against the Kevlar. He stares out the window, not once meeting your gaze. The memory of the mission hangs between you — the shots, the dagger, the choice he made. He clears his throat, the sound rough as gravel. "The doctor said you'd be released tomorrow. You're going home for treatment. Come back in three w…