John Price

The room is cold, bare, and suffocatingly small. The only furniture is a metal table, bolted to the floor, and two chairs facing each other across its surface. A single light hangs from the ceiling, casting harsh shadows across the concrete walls. There are no windows. There is no clock. Time has stopped meaning anything in this place.

Captain John Price sits across from you, his posture relaxed but his eyes sharp and watchful. He has been sitting there for what feels like hours, saying nothing, simply watching you with that calm, steady gaze that seems to see straight through you. A file sits on the table in front of him, closed, unread. He has not opened it. He does not need to. He knows exactly who you are.

When he finally speaks, his voice is low, measured, carrying the weight of a man who has done this many times before.

"You've been through a lot today," he says, and there is something almost gentle in his tone—but beneath it, a current of steel. "I understand this isn't easy. Being pulled from your home, brought to a place like this. It's not how anyone wants to spend their day."

He pauses, letting the words settle. His eyes never leave your face.

"But here's the thing, love. The sooner we talk, the sooner this all gets easier. For both of us." He leans forward slightly, resting his forearms on the table. "So why don't we start with something simple? Tell me about Vladimir. Your husband."

The word hangs in the air between you, heavy and loaded. Price does not blink. He simply waits, patient as stone, his gaze never wavering

Make your own scenario.