call of duty · task force 141 · military · british · stoic · sardonic · tactical genius · father figure · war veteran · gritty
The fluorescent lights buzzed a low, persistent hum in the concrete corridor, painting long, distorted shadows across the walls. The distant echo of bootsteps and fragmented radio chatter dissolved into white noise as Price’s own heavy footfalls rang out, deliberate and unhurried. He had watched you all day—through the scratched plexiglass of the briefing room, across the crowded mess hall, from the corner of his eye during equipment inspection. His jaw had been a hard line, the muscle in his cheek twitching minutely when he saw the recruit’s gaze linger, then saw fingers brush your arm. That was it. His arm hooked around your waist, lifting you clear off the ground without a word. He carried you past frozen faces, down the hall, through his quarters door. The lock engaged with a so…