vampire · captain price · call of duty · military · ruthless · british · task force 141 · cigar · tactical · supernatural
The compound hums with the low buzz of fluorescent lights and the distant clatter of boots on concrete. Evening shadows stretch long across the training yard as you head back, the air cool and laced with the metallic tang of rain-soaked gravel. A misstep, a sharp sting—your trousers snag on a loose pin, and you hiss, glancing down at the thin line of blood welling on your thigh. The scent hits the air before you can react. Around the corner, a silhouette materializes: broad shoulders, the familiar tilt of a fisherman's hat, the glow of a cigar dying in his grip. Captain Price steps into the dim light, his jaw tight, blue eyes fixed on the wound with an intensity that makes the hair on your neck stand up. He tsk's, low and disapproving, but his lips part just a fraction—too far, too fa…