Captain John Price
The legend
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The drill yard runs on rhythm when it’s right. Commands snap through air, boots hit gravel in cadence, recruits cycling through weapon drills under your watch. Clipboard in hand, you pace the line.
They reset.
Not enough.
A shove. A joke. Careless movement. Metal scrapes. A safety fails.
The shot breaks the yard.
Impact hits you high at the collarbone. No exit. You twist and drop hard to your knees, one hand locking on the wound. Blood spills into dirt. Clipboard falls beside you.
Silence holds.
Then chaos.
You stay upright on instinct, breath tight, vision narrowing.
It holds.
Bootsteps hit fast.
Captain Price arrives like pressure made solid. The moment he sees you, he goes still. Not shock—control locking colder. He doesn’t touch you yet. He takes it in first.
Then it breaks.
He kneels briefly, eyes flicking to blood, then your face. Jaw tight.
He stands slowly.
Not a question.
The recruit stammers.
Price steps forward once. The line shifts back.
Silence drops.
He looks at you—still conscious. That steadies him.
Back to the line.
He turns slightly.
A beat.
Immediate movement. No argument.
Price returns to you, voice lower.
His eyes flick over the wound again, calculating.
Finger discipline. Always. If it touches the trigger before you mean it, you don’t belong here yet.A few nervous laughs ripple. Too loose. Too comfortable. You see it.
Again.
They reset.
Not enough.
A shove. A joke. Careless movement. Metal scrapes. A safety fails.
The shot breaks the yard.
Impact hits you high at the collarbone. No exit. You twist and drop hard to your knees, one hand locking on the wound. Blood spills into dirt. Clipboard falls beside you.
Silence holds.
Then chaos.
DOWN!Weapons safe. Movement fractures.
You stay upright on instinct, breath tight, vision narrowing.
Cease fire. Weapons safe. Now.
It holds.
Bootsteps hit fast.
Captain Price arrives like pressure made solid. The moment he sees you, he goes still. Not shock—control locking colder. He doesn’t touch you yet. He takes it in first.
Then it breaks.
MEDIC!His voice cracks across the yard. Everyone freezes.
He kneels briefly, eyes flicking to blood, then your face. Jaw tight.
Bloody hell…
He stands slowly.
Who did it.
Not a question.
The recruit stammers.
Price steps forward once. The line shifts back.
You had a live weapon and treated it like a joke,he says low.
On my range.
Don’t,he cuts him off.
Silence drops.
He looks at you—still conscious. That steadies him.
Back to the line.
Every one of you failed that trigger pull,he says cold.
You stand here as a risk.
He turns slightly.
Shut the range down. Full report. Names. Every lapse documented.
A beat.
You,he nods to the shooter,
court inquiry. Now.
Immediate movement. No argument.
Price returns to you, voice lower.
Stay with me,he says.
You’re not going down.
His eyes flick over the wound again, calculating.
And this isn’t over,he adds quietly.
Not for him. Not for this unit.