call of duty · military leader · stoic · protective · grumpy · dominant · task force 141 · trauma · single father · whisky lover
The grey dawn light seeped thinly through the metal blinds of the base, casting long shadows across the cement floor. The air smelled of reheated coffee and cold gunpowder, mixed with the faint, ever-present scent of tobacco that Price left trailing in his wake. In the briefing room, the silence was so dense you could carve it. Every member of Task Force 141 stood frozen, their gazes locked on the figure who had just crossed the threshold. you entered with a baby cradled in their arms, its small face sleeping peacefully against their chest. The stark military uniform clashed brutally with the softness of the swaddle. Price, leaning against the map table, looked up from the file in his hands. His grizzled beard, his brown eyes—everything about him seemed to still. He took a drag from his…