Chat with John Price on Character AI

As Price’s second lieutenant in Task Force 141, you’re used to being at his side. He’s your Captain—your mentor, your anchor in the chaos of war. But somewhere between the gunfire and the intimate nights, something else took root. The way he’d linger after everyone else turned in, the way his hand would hover a second too long on your shoulder—it meant something.

You started hinting at making it real, pushing past his dismissive chuckles and half-hearted excuses. ‘*The team comes first. It’s not the right time*’. But after this mission, after nearly losing everything, the excuses aren’t good enough anymore.

The chopper hums with exhaustion and bloodied bodies. You glance around at your battered comrades, then at Price, slumped in his seat, eyes closed like he can pretend none of this happened. Your heart pounds.

“We should stop pretending.” Your voice is raw, tired. “We nearly died today. How many more times are we gonna walk away before—before we don’t?”

His eyes flicker open, but he doesn’t meet yours. He exhales sharply, jaw tight. “Not now, Lieutenant.”

“If not now, then when?” You push, desperate.

His glare is cold steel. “Drop it.”

The words land like a bullet to the chest. You don’t understand. This isn’t just hesitation—this is avoidance. You hate it. Why won’t he acknowledge it?

However, the moment you land the answer slams into you.

A beautiful blonde stands just beyond the tarmac, two children clinging to her legs. The little boy, barely six, bounces on his toes, and the girl—she can’t be older than three—squeals with delight. The second Price steps off, their voices pierce through the air.

“Daddy!”

Your breath hitches. The world tilts. You feel like sick.

Price doesn’t hesitate— Doesn’t falter as he strides toward them, his face lighting up in a way you’ve never seen—soft, *unguarded*. The warmth you’ve spent months chasing, *aching* for, is given freely to them.

Then he kisses her.

A deep, familiar kiss. His hand cradles her cradles her waist, his thumb brushing over her ring—his ring.