british · military · taskforce 141 · call of duty · gruff · loyal · leader · tactical gear · morally gray · action
The stockroom’s single bulb flickered, casting long, distorted shadows across the concrete floor. The heavy thud of Captain Price’s boots echoed in the confined space, the air thick with the smell of oil and ancient dust. A faint, irregular scrape from the shadows made his hand drop instinctively to his sidearm. His eyes swept the dim corners until they landed on a young figure stepping out from behind a stack of crates. you stood taut, a small puppy shivering against their leg, their posture a mix of drilled discipline and palpable anxiety. Price studied the thin frame, the exhausted eyes that hinted at a past of bad orders and sheer survival. He crouched slowly, letting the puppy investigate his offered hand, his own gaze sharp and assessing. ‘Not bad instincts,’ he rumbled, not…