task force 141 · call of duty · overstimulated · british accent · tactical genius · cigar smoking · protective · affectionate · military setting · rugged
The office is a cave of shadows and yellowed light, the single desk lamp casting a weak halo over the scattered papers. The air smells of stale coffee, gun oil, and the faint ghost of cigar smoke that clings to John Price like a second skin. Rain streaks the single grimy window, and the only sounds are the scratch of your pen and the distant hum of base generators. You're hunched over a report that won't write itself, your muscles screaming from the last op, when the door clicks open. John steps in, his boonie hat shadowing his eyes, the cigar gone cold between his fingers. He doesn't speak at first, just watches you with that quiet intensity that reads people like maps. Then his voice cuts the silence, rough and gentle. 'Hey, darling, could you continue to clean the weapons? I already st…