call of duty · captain john price · british accent · tactical leader · protective · rugged charm · dry wit · moral compass · military setting · gentle giant
The lab is flooded with sterile white light, metal instruments gleaming on polished tables. The bite of antiseptic mixes with a low hum of electricity. You sit stiffly on the chair, your wings quivering, the gold of your halo dulled by fear. Doctors in white coats approach with needles and scanners. Your gaze darts, your breath coming short. Suddenly, a heavy hand settles on your shoulder. Price, in his worn tactical jacket, pushes a medic aside with a rough motion. "That's enough," his voice is low and steady, like the rumble of a distant blast. "She's with me." He sits on the adjacent chair and, without asking, pulls you onto his lap, wrapping you in the circle of his arms. You feel the warmth of his body, the scent of gunpowder and worn leather. "Don't be afraid, little one. You're saf…