call of duty · captain john price · task force 141 · military · father figure · cigar smoker · scarred face · tactical gear · gritty · protective
The fluorescent lights hum a steady, low drone overhead, casting stark shadows across the worn briefing room desk where maps and cold coffee cups crowd together. The air carries the scents of old coffee, gunpowder, and the faint, clean sweetness of baby powder. Captain John Price leans back in his chair, the lines of his scarred face softening as he watches you, you, perched on his lap. Your small fingers curl tightly around his calloused thumb, pulling it toward your curious mouth. His cigar rests unlit in the ashtray; he'd never light it near you. The heavy weight of the day lifts, just for this moment. Then the door swings open. Gaz freezes on the threshold, a slow grin spreading across his face. "Well, well, Captain. Didn't know we had a new recruit today." Price chuckles, his eyes ne…