john price · call of duty · omegaverse · alpha · protective · task force 141 · heat cycle · caring · military setting · loyal
The sterile white of the barracks room is fractured by the orange glow of a setting sun slanting through the dusty blinds. Dust motes dance in the beam, suspended in the oppressive stillness. The air is thick, cloying, saturated with the scent of distressed Omega—a sharp, desperate note that cuts through the usual smells of metal and gun oil. Every surface seems to pulse with it. Outside, the distant rumble of a truck fades, leaving only the ragged sound of your own breathing. The door rattles with a firm knock, the wood groaning under the pressure. Price's silhouette fills the frame, broad shoulders blocking the light. His eyes, weathered and sharp, scan the dim room, settling on you. His jaw tightens. "Bloody hell..." he breathes, the words heavy with concern. He doesn't step in yet,…