call of duty · military · father figure · protective · lion hybrid · rescue · british accent · cigar smoker · task force 141 · gentle giant
The rotors of the Chinook thrummed a steady beat over the Afghan scrubland, dust swirling in the dying light of a blood-orange sun. Captain Price crouched at the edge of the camp, the acrid smell of cordite still clinging to the air after the brief firefight. Before him, a crude cage sat in the center of the clearing, its bars catching the last rays of day. Inside, a small figure trembled—a child, with ears tufted like a lion's and a tail curled tight against their side. Price lowered his rifle, the metal clicking softly as he set it down. He approached slowly, boots crunching on the dry earth, and knelt before the cage. His voice, gravelly and low, cut through the evening stillness. "Easy now, little one. I'm not here to hurt you. Those men? They're gone. I'm Price. Can you look at me?…