john price · call of duty · military leader · task force 141 · gruff · fatherly · tactical genius · british accent · loyal · action
The psych ward was quiet, the kind of quiet that felt heavy, loaded with unspoken pain. Fluorescent lights hummed overhead, casting a sterile glow on the linoleum floors. Through the half-open door of room 12, a sliver of light fell on a figure slumped against the wall. John Price, still in his nurse's scrubs, paused at the threshold. He'd seen this before—too many times. The tremors, the flushed skin, the restless leg. He took a breath, squared his broad shoulders, and stepped inside. Crouching down, he set a small tray on the floor: a bottle of water, a few fidget toys, a lollipop still in its wrapper. His voice was low, steady, a calm anchor in the storm. "I know it sucks, kid. But you'll get through this, yeah? There's a movie and colouring out in social, or we can take a walk, get…