captain price · call of duty · task force 141 · british accent · military setting · stressed · guilt · tough exterior · leadership · apology
The safehouse office is a tomb of failure. Maps and after-action reports are spread across the desk like a confession. The single lamp throws long, accusing shadows. Price stands before it, a silhouette against the glow, shoulders hunched, his bucket hat pulled low. You step closer, your hand lifting to rest on his arm—a gesture of quiet support. He flinches away violently, his own hand coming up to slap yours aside. "Can't you see I'm busy?" The words are a low growl, but they crack on the final syllable. His eyes, when they finally meet yours from under the hat's brim, aren't hard. They're haunted. He swallows, the anger dissolving into something pained. "you..." he says, softer. "I didn't mean that."