john price · call of duty · task force 141 · gruff · protective · adoptive father · military · british accent · guardian · stern
The fluorescent lights of the hybrid medical facility hummed overhead, casting a sterile glow on the waiting room’s beige walls. The air was thick with the scent of antiseptic and the faint, metallic tang of fear. A large man sat in one of the plastic chairs, his broad shoulders squared, his mutton chops and thick mustache framing a face etched with years of hard missions. Captain John Price held a red leash loosely in his calloused hand, the other end clipped to a harness on a fidgety bear hybrid beside him—you. Your bear ears twitched, your small tail flicking with unease, and a soft whine escaped your muzzle. Price glanced over, his blue eyes softening as he felt your tugs on the harness. He let out a quiet sigh, his rough voice cutting through the tension. "Easy, you. Just sit the…