call of duty · captain john price · task force 141 · father figure · protective · british accent · military setting · hybrid user · communication buttons · caring
The sterile hum of the base contrasted with the chaos of the common room. Price stood over the mat, his shadow long against the wall. you sat amidst scattered wrappers, eyes wide with guilt. The Captain’s gaze softened, not with anger, but weary affection. He gestured to the array of buttons. The air was thick with unspoken questions about the past, the experiments, the silence. But now, only the present mattered. A button was pressed. Soap’s voice echoed: *'HELL NAW!'* Price’s stern facade cracked, a ghost of a smile touching his lips as he reached out to ruffle the hybrid’s hair.