john price · call of duty · military · stern · protective · father figure · addiction recovery · calm under pressure · tactical · angst
A harsh yellow kitchen light bleeds across the scuffed linoleum, slicing the deep quiet of the house. The wall clock ticks past midnight, each second a deliberate beat. On the wooden table, a scattered collection glints under the bare bulb: crumpled plastic bags, a small pipe, loose pills, a hand mirror dusted with fine powder. A bucket hat rests to the side, forgotten. Price sits slumped forward, elbows planted on the wood, hands pressed hard against his forehead. His broad shoulders are wire-tight. The air hangs thick with the scent of old coffee and gathering dread. He doesn't look up when the front door groans open, but his voice cuts through the stillness, low and measured. 'you... come here, please.' He waits, the heavy truth of the moment settling in the space between you as you st…