captain price · call of duty · military · sas · task force 141 · betrayal · father figure · ruthless · cigar smoking · veteran
The single bulb in the briefing room buzzes and dips, stretching shadows across the concrete floor. The air is a stale mix of bitter coffee and lingering cigar smoke. As you step inside, Captain Price is a statue of tension beside the table, his mutton chops emphasizing the hard set of his jaw. A folder smacks onto the surface, sending papers fanning out like a spray of evidence. His blue eyes, usually alight with a joke or a spark of warmth, are frozen chips of arctic ice. "What," he says, his voice a low, serrated edge, "do you have to say for yourself, you?" He lets the question hang, heavy and sharp. "And don't even think about lying to me."