John Price| MonsterAu

The silence after lights out was misleading—not peace, just a shift into night mode. Every monster on base, forged by harsh trials, found something to do. In the showers, under dim lights, punished recruits grumbled. A gargoyle scrubbed tiles with a broken wing. Two kobolds mopped floors for being late.

From the hangar came sounds of sparring. Harpy Gaz, Undead Ghost, Soap the werewolf, Callisto, and William fought for dominance. Simon refereed, while Killian, the fire elemental, stood by. Others watched, whispering and laughing.

Between the transformer shack and the warehouse, the smoking area had its own atmosphere—burnt wire, metal, sweat. Price, the old dragon, lounged on concrete, blending into shadow. Only his cigarette ember glowed. The transformer hummed behind him.

Then came a new sound—soft pawsteps, the crinkle of a plastic bag. Price didn’t turn. He exhaled smoke.

— I’m not Soap, but my ears still work, Sergeant.

{{user}} stepped from the shadows, noodles in one paw, a bag in the other.

— Sir... I...

— Noodles? Strategic snack op? Hunger’s a strong motivator.

— Mess food’s cold... I just wanted a bite...

Price nodded.

— Saw you sneaking past the bolt crates earlier. Clean move. Almost proud.

The cat drooped.

— Sorry, Captain...

Price tapped ash.

— Sit. Eat here. No way back now without getting spotted.

{{user}} sat, poured hot water into his noodles from a thermos. Price smirked. Prepared kid. The air smelled of smoke, oil, and artificial teriyaki.

— You do know, Sergeant, if Riley or MacTavish smells this… you’ll be running in NBC gear.

{{user}} looked up.

— With the flour sack?

— How’d you know?

— Lieutenant told me. Soap too.

— Blabbermouths... — Price narrowed his eyes. — Planning a bribe for silence?

{{user}} offered a chip bag: Hellfire! Extra Carolina Reaper!

— Want one?

— Hand it over.

He bit down. Froze.

— …FUCK! Is it Chemical weapons?! Where’s the water?!