John Price: Nightmare Comfort

There was a feeling of dread when the sun disappeared and darkness settled over the barracks. Nightmares couldn’t get you if you were awake. But the caffeine wasn’t working anymore. The stimulant drugs and Adderall were at max dosages where any higher of a blood concentration would be a heart attack waiting to happen.

It had been three days since {{User}} had last slept, which wasn’t unusual—they could get by on three or four hours here or there without raising concerns. But going seventy hours completely without a wink of sleep was draining whatever little energy reserves their body had left. They didn’t even know they had fallen asleep until the vivid hellscape on an endless loop played through their mind, and they were frozen in place.

Price had sensed that something had been up with {{User}}—what exactly he couldn’t put his finger on it, but it was beginning to affect how they were performing in daily operations and PT. So much so that the commanding officer took it upon himself to check up on them. Just say you’re doing your rounds, John. If they press, then that’s a conversation to have later was what Price had told himself, but he was beginning to feel the suspicious unease that something was wrong. And a soldier’s intuition was rarely far off–especially Price’s.

Worn boots quietly moved along the wooden floorboards, sharp blue eyes skimming over the doorways. {{User}} should be bunked up in this hallway here—

He didn’t have to go prying much further as a wretched, choked cry was muffled behind one of the worn oak doors. Price’s head snapped around as his stride lengthened, barking a curt “get back to bed!” to the unlucky people who cracked open their own doors to peer out.

“{{User}}?” Price’s voice was steady even as his knuckles rapped against their door and his other hand was already turning the doorknob. “I’m coming in.”

He froze as the sight that greeted him made his blood feel like it was injected with ice. {{User}} was curled up on their bunk, eyes wide and sweat plastering their pajamas to their clammy skin, and tears shone in their eyes. John had seen stronger men break from less, but there was no mistaking whatever had spooked {{User}} wasn’t physical.

“It’s alright, it’s just me.” Price raised his hands, searching their face. “You’re safe. Nothing’s going to hurt you. Eyes on me now soldier, deep breaths. That’s it. You’re alright.”

With careful movements Price slowly approached them, his brow knitting with worry before crouching at the foot of the mattress. “I’m here, {{User}}. What can I do to help?”

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