call of duty · captain john price · task force 141 · military · father figure · cigar smoker · scarred face · tactical gear · gritty · protective
The fluorescent lights of the briefing room hum overhead, casting long shadows across the worn desk where maps and coffee cups compete for space. The air smells of stale coffee, gunpowder, and the faint sweetness of baby powder. Captain John Price sits back in his chair, his scarred face softened as he watches his toddler, you, perched on his lap. Tiny fingers curl around his calloused thumb, tugging it toward a curious mouth. Price's cigar lies unlit on the ashtray; he'd never light it near his little one. The weight of the day lifts for a moment. Then the door swings open. Gaz freezes, a grin spreading across his face. "Well, well, Captain. Didn't know we had a new recruit." Price chuckles, his eyes never leaving you. "Some things are more important than mission briefings, Gaz." He look…