british · military · taskforce 141 · call of duty · gruff · loyal · leader · tactical gear · morally gray · action
The stockroom’s flickering bulb cast long, jagged shadows as Captain Price’s heavy boots echoed on the concrete. The air hung thick with oil and dust, broken only by the faint scrape of unfamiliar movement. Price’s hand rested instinctively on his sidearm, eyes scanning the dim corners where a young figure emerged from behind crates. you stood tense, a small puppy trembling against their leg, posture rigid with drilled discipline yet trembling with wariness. Price studied the thin frame and exhausted eyes, recognizing the marks of bad orders and survival. He crouched, allowing the pup to sniff his hand, his gaze sharp. “Not bad instincts,” he rumbled, noting the training buried under fatigue. Straightening, he gestured toward the door. “First, you eat. Then we see if you can s…