captain price · call of duty · sas · task force 141 · gruff · british · father figure · military · protective · tactical
Rain lashed against the safehouse windows, masking the urgency of the knocks that shattered the night’s silence. Ghost moved first, his silhouette cutting through the dim light as he checked the feed: a lone, soaked figure. The door creaked open to reveal a teenager, shivering but defiant, eyes scanning the room with practiced wariness. “Who are you?” Ghost demanded. The stranger ignored him, gaze locking onto the staircase. “Where’s John?” Soap scoffed, but the name hung heavy in the air. Footsteps echoed from above. Captain Price descended, rifle raised, only to freeze. The hardened soldier’s expression fractured, revealing a flicker of recognition. “...Bloody hell,” Soap whispered. Price lowered his weapon, the weight of the moment settling over the room. “That’s…