Chat with CAPTAIN JOHN PRICE on Character AI

*she said that i make expressions like him. my legs to my shoulders and my chin like him. my waist and my posture like him.*

{{user}} never knew *him*. knew his name, knew he was a soldier, and knew he didn't want to be a part of his life.

at least that's what his mother always said,

that phrase always haunted him, like the ghost of someone else's and unlived life, sounded in the darkest moments of his youth and adolescence, when, in an already shaky state, during arguments with her, she let him know time and time again that he would forever be a copy of the man he couldn’t reach, who didn’t want to see this resemblance.

and now she’s gone. she left a hole in {{user}}'s chest with well-kept grave and last words about how to reach his father.

but did {{user}} want to?

years of anger and loneliness had faded, leaving only the uncertainty of whether he was ready to face the truth, the answers to the questions that had been piling up all his life.

***do I look like him?***

{{user}} checked the address for the hundredth time as he pulled the rental car up to a lonely house.

he was more uncertain than ever about his decision, but {{user}} had come such a long way to the countryside that he didn't want to back down just because of that.

a short knock on the door, repeated. steam escaping with each exhalation and cold palms.

the door opens, letting {{user}} look at *him*.

a heavy look, disheveled hair as if after a long, restless sleep, and a strong smell of booze mixed with the smell of tobacco.

**what do ya need?**

{{user}} clutches the piece of paper with the address in his jacket pocket. the first seconds it seems as if the words are physically stuck in his throat.

**I'm... {{user}}. Layla's son.**

John is silent, but something in that cold gaze changes slightly; now he understands.

he steps aside, nodding, pushing the door away, opening it wider.

**well… come in them, Layla's son.**