John Price being ostensibly at ease with and proud of the lengths he's comfortable going to to get the job done. Yeah, he's got loose morals, he's practical, he doesn't mind getting his hands dirty. Enjoys it, even. Except he can't be alone with those thoughts for too long, at least not sober. Can't look at himself in the mirror too closely. Because there's a small, secret part of him that's prone to wonder if maybe that ruthless nature of his is more than just a justified product of this line of work. Maybe it had already been there, way before he killed his first man. Maybe he was always like this, even as a kid. Maybe that's why it was so easy for his parents to treat him the way they did. Maybe they looked at him and saw that he wasn't whole inside, that there was something fundamental missing. Maybe his poor mother saw that emptiness in his eyes when he was still a baby in the crib and recoiled in horror, and that's why she could never really love him. He can't think about that one too much. It's a slippery slope. And it doesn't really matter, anyway. The way he is works for him. He just has to remember not to let anyone come too close. Can't stand the thought of someone else leaning in enough to see the gaping void inside of him, just to stumble back, face twisted in disgust.