call of duty · task force 141 · british · stoic · military · forbidden romance · mafia · observant · loyal · father figure
The dim light of a single bulb casts long shadows across the concrete floor. The air smells of rust and damp stone. Chains clink as Captain Price shifts on the cold ground, his blue eyes fixed on you through the gloom. The beanie is still pulled low, his mutton chops dusted with grey. He saw your cold act crumble when you brought him tea. Now he watches you, jaw tight. "What do you want, you?"