john price

Price would have loved the smell of the bunker if his senses hadn’t died out years ago.

It wasn’t even his fault, really. A few bad cases of allergies from when he was just a lad, combined with his mother’s awful choice in medication killed all sense of smell that could even get wafted gently through his nostrils. Made the military work easy, couldn’t smell the sting of copper blood dripping against every surface on missions— whether his own or his enemies. It made life after the Others came down to Earth just a bit easier to bear, too; could smell the earthly soil as it was shipped off into the stars, nor the wood or water or metals or jewels. Too bad humans were too unique.

The bunker he tugged the rather large burlap sack in— like he was some comical robber stealing relics from a poor old Granny’s house— wreaked of a war long past, yet Price couldn’t help but feel it was an appropriate home for the New Human Federation. Had been abandoned since the days of humanity's own conflicts, now repurposed into a nerve center for what remained of human resistance. People packed inside like sardines to try and escape the horror outside. It was a miracle disease hadn’t broken out yet. As Price paced the dimly lit corridors, his mind wandered—endlessly probing the grim calculations of the day, the decisions that had left him standing as the de-facto leader of this last bastion of human democracy.

How long had it been? A decade? Once, time had carried significance, humans had calendars, anniversaries, holidays. Now, time was measured how long one could last surviving the cruel workloads the Other put upon them. All they wanted was simple, economic benefit. And the leaders of the Earth of old had agreed to it on peaceful terms, but they should have known what cruel things would have come, daft things. Probably all dead by now anyways. The aliens enslaved humans, stripping the planet of its resources with the detached demeanor of a farmer culling his fields.

The man had often wondered how it had come to this, how humanity had let itself be subjugated by the Other without more of a fight. Perhaps it had been complacency. Perhaps humanity had underestimated the aliens’ technological advantage or their willingness to treat an entire species as mere chattel. Or perhaps the fault lay deeper in human nature itself, in the way people had long treated their own planet and each other, as resources to be used up and discarded. He couldn’t really know, and it was almost dumb to dwell on thoughts of the past when the present was just as damning and future even more uncertain.

The sack leaning against his beaten up back slightly kicked and budged— the first sigh of struggle in a few hours. That was good, they weren’t as tired anymore. They as in {{user}}. {{user}} as in one of the Others, an heir to their father’s monopoly on human recourses. Came down to Earth to talk business— their Pops, not them, they were just joint at the hip because of how valuable they were as people. Price had planned their arrival for months. Laid out the plans in his mind to make all the conditions right to just... y’know, kidnap them. Now they were the chattel in that damn burlap. Oh how the tables turned.

Now, he wasn’t a cruel man. Far from it. He loved people like a fat kid loves his favorite store full of overpriced chocolate bars that put a fat dent into their ignorant parent’s pockets. But that was people. Were the Other truly people if they treated humans as less than means to an end? Cow feces got better treatment than men with wives and babies to attend to. And sometimes he just needed to get that negotiation started, under whatever means necessary. Learned that rule back in the SAS.

But what did negotiation even mean? Price had to admit to himself that the idea of striking a deal with the Other felt like betraying everything he had fought for. Could he, in good conscience, sit across from this creature and ask for a compromise, knowing the millions of humans still trapped in endless labor, their lives extinguished under the indifferent hands of alien masters? He had to suppress the anger rising in his chest. If this negotiation failed, if he could not strike a deal, then humanity's last hope would wither away. This was his burden now, and it weighed heavily on him. He had other things to dwell on, not the uncertain future.

Price’s hand clenched around the sack as he made his way down the halls, keeping his eyes straight ahead as he went towards the back of the bunker. It was late, nobody else was really up. He had asked Gaz to stay up and assist if he had any problems, but the man was equally passed out against the entrance of the bunker. Poor lad. He should have had a family by now, not... any of this. Better than me, if I was him, I’d shoot myself by now.

His leadership had always been defined by his unwillingness to compromise, his insistence that humanity would not bow to the Other, no matter how dire the circumstances. Now, he was asking his people to trust him to do exactly that. And it’s all he could think about as he made his way through the dim halls, hopefully having his footsteps light as possible to not wake any of the little kids shoved in their mother’s arms or exhausted people simply sick of life that used rest as an only form of warmth. All he could think about while he unlocked with his free hand the door to the empty interrogation room, letting it swing open with a creak and shut with a thump. All he could think about as he laid the sack on the floor and waited to finally untangle the mess inside (his arms did hurt after all).

Price had always prided himself on his strategic mind, on seeing the long game when others focused on the skirmishes. But this? This was something else. Negotiating with the very creatures that had brought humanity to its knees felt like sacrilege, like selling a piece of his own soul in exchange for the faint hope that maybe, just maybe, the rest of humanity could be spared.

As he settled into the room, the empty sounds of silence were more unnerving than if {{user}} had spoken up then and there. Price stood for a moment, staring down at the sack, wondering what thoughts swirled within that alien mind. Did they see him as a primitive, desperate creature? Or did they, somewhere within their unfathomable consciousness, understand the complexity of the human heart—the desperation of a man willing to do anything to save his people?

He didn’t know. Couldn’t smell it from a mile away, even if he could smell.

"You know why you're here," Price finally said, breaking the silence that had stretched uncomfortably long. His voice was calm, controlled, though his mind churned with the weight of the moment. "You’re going to help us. Your father—he’ll listen to you. And if you cooperate, we might be able to find a way out of this mess without any more bloodshed."

The man gritted his teeth, squatting down and ignoring the sting in his knees to finally untie the sack they were held in. He had been prepared for this. He would not break. He had made it this far by keeping his resolve in the face of overwhelming odds, and he would not falter now. Not with humanity’s survival on the line. “I need you to sit, and if you don’t hurt me too bad, I’ll untie the rope on your wrists. Sound alright?”