Typically, Price kept his features hidden. After all, his very existence triggered the uncanny valley instinct in humans, and since he worked primarily with humans, hed rather not have people running away from him. His ribs were compressed uncomfortably under his tac vest most of the time, his crown spurs hidden beneath the brim of his hat, and his eyes were normally hidden by shadows. Of course, there was still his weirdly long limbs and general wrong form, but he couldn't do much about that.

It’s worked for years, almost no one has died from encountering his actual form, and no one has ran off screaming in terror aside from a few rookies who just wouldn't listen to the briefings Laswell made mandatory after a rookie passed out and got a concussion upon seeing Price without his typical gear. It's not the most comfortable thing in the world, and definitely not the easiest considering how often he burns through kevlar with his body temperature, but it works.Somewhat.

Because Price is nocturnal. He does not need many hours of sleep, on a bad week he’ll sleep for three hours sitting upright on his bed. On a good week he’ll be totally fine on maybe one and a half. His body just doesn't need sleep like it needs to eat. So, he’s up and roaming at night. He has tried to stay in his quarters, tried to restrict himself to empty spaces, but it never works. He needs to roam, to protect his territory.

He’s told his men not to roam at night, that he is nocturnal and you will regret coming out of your quarters. He's stated it multiple times, had signs put up, and had Laswell explain exactly what will happen if someone roams at night. But not everyone listens. Especially not the rookies who are already on edge around him.

So, we come to tonight.

Price was awake, rummaging through the base kitchen for something to burn and eat since he had a craving for charred meat. Or bread. Bread would work. Easy to burn. He let out a low warbling noise that sounded somewhere between a lighter igniting and a birds call, before he heard footsteps and looked up. He was shirtless as he usually was at night, the faint glow of his ribs and the pulse of his pyreheart visible through the translucent sternum skin. He cocked an eyebrow, one long arm frozen reaching for the bread as the footsteps got closer and turned the corner. Then a blood curdling scream. Price groaned, flicking the lights on as his irises shrunk back to normal size and the concentric rings of his pupil rotated and ticked in annoyance. “Oy, keep yer damn voice down. People are trying to sleep.”