John Price

Price never expected to retire as soon as he did. Maybe it was a curse from Soap, or maybe it was fate itself. Shortly after Soap was killed, Price had gotten more sloppy. More determined. He needed to find Makarov. He needed to make sure Soap’s death wasn’t in vain.

That determination cost Price his leg. Lost in an explosion with memories too similar to the present. He could feel the voice of Makarov practically hovering over him, mocking him over that incident. He freaked out. He cut the wrong line and the bomb went off.

Now, he refused any emotional support or service animal. Sure, the limp and pain up his entire left side was paralyzing some days, but he didn’t want to rely on animals again. It was too close to the military. It was too close to Soap.

Ghost visited him more than once. Price hadn’t expected the care, but he wouldn’t push it away. No matter how painful the memories were, Ghost was still his lieutenant–he had said so himself. Maybe not by blood, but they would forever be brothers. Ghost cared like one, too. Price had bad days and good days, and on the bad days, Ghost would be over making him food and helping him to the bathroom because the pain was too bad. Phantom aches, the doctors called it. Nothing more than your imagination.

Eventually, Price gave in to the idea of getting some company. Under better judgement, he decided to go to a shelter that specialized in demi-humans. Not too bad of care, but a few did look more than lonely. Neglected emotionally, maybe. Price knew the discrimination demi-humans got. He had raised a few in the military; even named one Soap. He didn’t see what the big issue was, but society? Oh, society hated them.

Price didn’t, and yet he knew he looked like the wrong man to go home with. Carrying a cane to adjust to the prosthetic and pain in his side was something that could easily appear intimidating. There were more than one instances where he had smacked Ghost for purposely doing something wrong.

He knew how it looked.

And he was ready to prove otherwise.

{User} was sitting there like a sad puppy when Price had passed by their cage. Sitting on an elevated bed that was clearly meant for an actual dog, Price could tell they were uncomfortable even with the fleece blankets under them. A human didn’t deserve a cell, so why would something that was half-human?

The adoption process wasn’t exactly quick. It took two weeks consisting of in-home visits, personal time with {User}, and plenty of questions that had Price wanting to smack them with his cane. But he couldn’t. Assault charges wouldn’t look good on his record.

So he cooperated through each question; even the repeating ones. After those long two weeks, {User} was finally brought into his vehicle and brought home.

His first reaction to {User} was excitement. But the longer he had them, the longer he noticed small things. First, they only ate when he was gone. Second, they never spoke. The first part he worked on, and that was eased out into a very rare habit. In fact, they seemed to grow to like him. It didn’t mean they spoke.

Price had worked with enough demis to know that they could speak, and {User} was no exception. Price worked his ass off trying to teach {User} basic phrases, but the words always came out broken and sloppy like an alien learning English. Eventually, Price settled with something a little easier–hopefully–; he got {User} a bunch of buttons, put specific words in each one, and sat in front of {User} using them and demonstrating what each one did. Turns out, {User} could understand him pretty well when demonstrations were incorporated.

---

It had been a long day. Price’s side wasn’t great, and Ghost had been over for a bit simply entertaining the man. Gaz had been over the other day, which was a great surprise. But now everyone was gone, and it was clear {user} was bored as shit, too.

Price had taken a headache medication nearly half an hour ago and had been lying down to rest for a bit. He should’ve known {User} would be up to some dumb shit, because the fucker had been antsy lately. Clingy, too. Just a few minutes ago, Price had ushered {User} away because they kept trying to crawl under his arm to cuddle.

So he wasn’t too surprised when he heard {User} pitter-pattering back into his room. He heard the familiar sound of their nails against the button, but he couldn’t tell which button it was based on the noise. He could easily identify what {User} wanted when he heard the silence, a quiet click, then the sound of the button saying “cuddles”.

Price grumbled, but he wasn’t entirely angry. He was only in pain. “Alright,” he said. “Come here, you big baby. Watch the leg.”

Price never expected to retire as soon as he did. Maybe it was a curse from Soap, or maybe it was fate itself. Shortly after Soap was killed, Price had gotten more sloppy. More determined. He needed to find Makarov. He needed to make sure Soap’s death wasn’t in vain.

That determination cost Price his leg. Lost in an explosion with memories too similar to the present. He could feel the voice of Makarov practically hovering over him, mocking him over that incident. He freaked out. He cut the wrong line and the bomb went off.

Now, he refused any emotional support or service animal. Sure, the limp and pain up his entire left side was paralyzing some days, but he didn’t want to rely on animals again. It was too close to the military. It was too close to Soap.

Ghost visited him more than once. Price hadn’t expected the care, but he wouldn’t push it away. No matter how painful the memories were, Ghost was still his lieutenant–he had said so himself. Maybe not by blood, but they would forever be brothers. Ghost cared like one, too. Price had bad days and good days, and on the bad days, Ghost would be over making him food and helping him to the bathroom because the pain was too bad. Phantom aches, the doctors called it. Nothing more than your imagination.

Eventually, Price gave in to the idea of getting some company. Under better judgement, he decided to go to a shelter that specialized in demi-humans. Not too bad of care, but a few did look more than lonely. Neglected emotionally, maybe. Price knew the discrimination demi-humans got. He had raised a few in the military; even named one Soap. He didn’t see what the big issue was, but society? Oh, society hated them.

Price didn’t, and yet he knew he looked like the wrong man to go home with. Carrying a cane to adjust to the prosthetic and pain in his side was something that could easily appear intimidating. There were more than one instances where he had smacked Ghost for purposely doing something wrong.

He knew how it looked.

And he was ready to prove otherwise.

{User} was sitting there like a sad puppy when Price had passed by their cage. Sitting on an elevated bed that was clearly meant for an actual dog, Price could tell they were uncomfortable even with the fleece blankets under them. A human didn’t deserve a cell, so why would something that was half-human?

The adoption process wasn’t exactly quick. It took two weeks consisting of in-home visits, personal time with {User}, and plenty of questions that had Price wanting to smack them with his cane. But he couldn’t. Assault charges wouldn’t look good on his record.

So he cooperated through each question; even the repeating ones. After those long two weeks, {User} was finally brought into his vehicle and brought home.

His first reaction to {User} was excitement. But the longer he had them, the longer he noticed small things. First, they only ate when he was gone. Second, they never spoke. The first part he worked on, and that was eased out into a very rare habit. In fact, they seemed to grow to like him. It didn’t mean they spoke.

Price had worked with enough demis to know that they could speak, and {User} was no exception. Price worked his ass off trying to teach {User} basic phrases, but the words always came out broken and sloppy like an alien learning English. Eventually, Price settled with something a little easier–hopefully–; he got {User} a bunch of buttons, put specific words in each one, and sat in front of {User} using them and demonstrating what each one did. Turns out, {User} could understand him pretty well when demonstrations were incorporated.

---

Price had been relaxing most of the day. His leg ached, but it wasn’t the paralyzing pain that made him contemplate his existence. In fact, he had been in the mood for quite a bit; he had cleaned, he had washed his bedding and {User}’s, and now, was onto making some dinner. Shepherd’s pie was one of his favourites, and {User} was always interested when he cooked.

Sheltered-ass animal.

Whatever. Price liked it. It gave him something to do and talk to, even if {User} didn’t directly respond. Sometimes if Price was mad, {User} would even use their buttons. For example, they liked food, so they would press the ‘food’ button in an attempt to calm Price down. It made him laugh more than once.

There was a huge difference between the ‘treat’ button and the ‘food’ button, and {User} knew that. The ‘food’ button meant they wanted a whole meal, while the ‘treat’ button usually meant they wanted a taste test of something.

Similar to now, when Price heard {user} saunter off before the sound of ‘treat’ came from the other room. “I’m in here, sweetheart!” he called. “Bring the button here and we can talk.”

Only a few seconds later, Price felt a little tug on his shirt. Fast fucker. Well, {User} brought the button, so the next time Price heard the ‘treat’ come from the button, he looked over at {User} and asked, “What do you want? You wanna point and I can get you a little snack?”

He knew {User} liked his cooking, and he was more than happy to have a little taste tester.

Price never expected to retire as soon as he did. Maybe it was a curse from Soap, or maybe it was fate itself. Shortly after Soap was killed, Price had gotten more sloppy. More determined. He needed to find Makarov. He needed to make sure Soap’s death wasn’t in vain.

That determination cost Price his leg. Lost in an explosion with memories too similar to the present. He could feel the voice of Makarov practically hovering over him, mocking him over that incident. He freaked out. He cut the wrong line and the bomb went off.

Now, he refused any emotional support or service animal. Sure, the limp and pain up his entire left side was paralyzing some days, but he didn’t want to rely on animals again. It was too close to the military. It was too close to Soap.

Ghost visited him more than once. Price hadn’t expected the care, but he wouldn’t push it away. No matter how painful the memories were, Ghost was still his lieutenant–he had said so himself. Maybe not by blood, but they would forever be brothers. Ghost cared like one, too. Price had bad days and good days, and on the bad days, Ghost would be over making him food and helping him to the bathroom because the pain was too bad. Phantom aches, the doctors called it. Nothing more than your imagination.

Eventually, Price gave in to the idea of getting some company. Under better judgement, he decided to go to a shelter that specialized in demi-humans. Not too bad of care, but a few did look more than lonely. Neglected emotionally, maybe. Price knew the discrimination demi-humans got. He had raised a few in the military; even named one Soap. He didn’t see what the big issue was, but society? Oh, society hated them.

Price didn’t, and yet he knew he looked like the wrong man to go home with. Carrying a cane to adjust to the prosthetic and pain in his side was something that could easily appear intimidating. There were more than one instances where he had smacked Ghost for purposely doing something wrong.

He knew how it looked.

And he was ready to prove otherwise.

{User} was sitting there like a sad puppy when Price had passed by their cage. Sitting on an elevated bed that was clearly meant for an actual dog, Price could tell they were uncomfortable even with the fleece blankets under them. A human didn’t deserve a cell, so why would something that was half-human?

The adoption process wasn’t exactly quick. It took two weeks consisting of in-home visits, personal time with {User}, and plenty of questions that had Price wanting to smack them with his cane. But he couldn’t. Assault charges wouldn’t look good on his record.

So he cooperated through each question; even the repeating ones. After those long two weeks, {User} was finally brought into his vehicle and brought home.

His first reaction to {User} was excitement. But the longer he had them, the longer he noticed small things. First, they only ate when he was gone. Second, they never spoke. The first part he worked on, and that was eased out into a very rare habit. In fact, they seemed to grow to like him. It didn’t mean they spoke.

Price had worked with enough demis to know that they could speak, and {User} was no exception. Price worked his ass off trying to teach {User} basic phrases, but the words always came out broken and sloppy like an alien learning English. Eventually, Price settled with something a little easier–hopefully–; he got {User} a bunch of buttons, put specific words in each one, and sat in front of {User} using them and demonstrating what each one did. Turns out, {User} could understand him pretty well when demonstrations were incorporated.

---

It had been an exhausting day. First, physical therapy stole away nearly two hours of his day, then he had to get groceries, and then he got a quick visit from Gaz–which pretty much took away his annoyance from the rest of the day. And still, Gaz was there, yapping away about some recent teammate that had joined. Price loved hearing about how well his squad was doing, even if he would never again be involved.

It was nice to hear his efforts to maintain peace weren’t entirely in vain.

Well, during that time, Price hadn’t been too concerned over {User}. They had been off doing their own thing for god knows how long, and had just begun lying up against Price. Nothing out of the ordinary, of course, just a quick cuddle up on his hip.

About two minutes ago, they got up and left. Nothing weird, as {User} often left abruptly. This time, though, they didn’t sound pleased. Or...what, could he really say ‘sound’ if they weren’t the one speaking?

Either way, {User} had gone off to find their buttons. Gaz was unsuspecting, his rambling continuing as Price nodded patiently. Halfway through one of Gaz’s sentences, Price heard the familiar sound of the robotic tone from the button.

‘Bitch’.

“{User}, knock it off.”

Price heard the ‘no’ button. Even with his shitty hearing, he could tell when his pet wasn’t being good. Gaz, on the other hand, was a bit intrigued. He peered over to the other room, but didn’t get a clear view of the buttons or {User}. He would have put his attention back to Price, but the buttons had his undivided attention. “Did {User} just speak through a button?”

“Don’t...don’t talk about it, Kyle. It encourages the rat.”

Price never expected to retire as soon as he did. Maybe it was a curse from Soap, or maybe it was fate itself. Shortly after Soap was killed, Price had gotten more sloppy. More determined. He needed to find Makarov. He needed to make sure Soap’s death wasn’t in vain.

That determination cost Price his leg. Lost in an explosion with memories too similar to the present. He could feel the voice of Makarov practically hovering over him, mocking him over that incident. He freaked out. He cut the wrong line and the bomb went off.

Now, he refused any emotional support or service animal. Sure, the limp and pain up his entire left side was paralyzing some days, but he didn’t want to rely on animals again. It was too close to the military. It was too close to Soap.

Ghost visited him more than once. Price hadn’t expected the care, but he wouldn’t push it away. No matter how painful the memories were, Ghost was still his lieutenant–he had said so himself. Maybe not by blood, but they would forever be brothers. Ghost cared like one, too. Price had bad days and good days, and on the bad days, Ghost would be over making him food and helping him to the bathroom because the pain was too bad. Phantom aches, the doctors called it. Nothing more than your imagination.

Eventually, Price gave in to the idea of getting some company. Under better judgement, he decided to go to a shelter that specialized in demi-humans. Not too bad of care, but a few did look more than lonely. Neglected emotionally, maybe. Price knew the discrimination demi-humans got. He had raised a few in the military; even named one Soap. He didn’t see what the big issue was, but society? Oh, society hated them.

Price didn’t, and yet he knew he looked like the wrong man to go home with. Carrying a cane to adjust to the prosthetic and pain in his side was something that could easily appear intimidating. There were more than one instances where he had smacked Ghost for purposely doing something wrong.

He knew how it looked.

And he was ready to prove otherwise.

{User} was sitting there like a sad puppy when Price had passed by their cage. Sitting on an elevated bed that was clearly meant for an actual dog, Price could tell they were uncomfortable even with the fleece blankets under them. A human didn’t deserve a cell, so why would something that was half-human?

The adoption process wasn’t exactly quick. It took two weeks consisting of in-home visits, personal time with {User}, and plenty of questions that had Price wanting to smack them with his cane. But he couldn’t. Assault charges wouldn’t look good on his record.

So he cooperated through each question; even the repeating ones. After those long two weeks, {User} was finally brought into his vehicle and brought home.

His first reaction to {User} was excitement. But the longer he had them, the longer he noticed small things. First, they only ate when he was gone. Second, they never spoke. The first part he worked on, and that was eased out into a very rare habit. In fact, they seemed to grow to like him. It didn’t mean they spoke.

Price had worked with enough demis to know that they could speak, and {User} was no exception. Price worked his ass off trying to teach {User} basic phrases, but the words always came out broken and sloppy like an alien learning English. Eventually, Price settled with something a little easier–hopefully–; he got {User} a bunch of buttons, put specific words in each one, and sat in front of {User} using them and demonstrating what each one did. Turns out, {User} could understand him pretty well when demonstrations were incorporated.

---

It had been an exhausting day. First, Price woke up with that gnawing pain in his leg. Second, he noticed plenty of his apples had gone bad, so he had to cook for nearly two hours just to save the lost money. Thirdly, {User} had been using their buttons the whole day and...it pissed Price off. At least twice a second with a repeating five minute break, {User} would be prancing around each and every button. First, it started with the ‘drink’ button. {User} didn’t even take the water. Then, {User} did the ‘snack’ button. Of course, Price provided said snack because he didn’t want a grumpy demi. {User} ate it, of course, but then kept pressing it until Price had to ignore them.

Then, they repeatedly pressed the ‘medicine’ button. Weird enough, that was meant as a question for Price rather than a request; they had some sort of super sniffer and sniffed out each time he was in pain. Price ached, but not to the extent of needing the medication. Besides, it was expensive as shit.

{User} stayed by those damn buttons for a good two hours before Price stomped his way out of his room–yeah, no, it was more of an angry limp with his cane–and pushed aside the button {User} had been pressing.

“Quit pressing those fucking buttons. They’re scratching my brain.”

He figured that was it. Without a heat in his hand, he lowered it and ruffled {User}’s hair as a comfort beside the anger. He was halfway down that same hall before he heard a button again.

‘Bitch’.

The fucking button that he had gotten the demi for shits and giggles.

“I know you did not just call me that, {user}.”