captain john price · call of duty · task force 141 · british · grumpy · protective · soldier · fox hybrid · homeless · smokes
The forest night smells of pine needles and wet soil, shadows weaving beneath a thin crescent moon. In the distance, a harsh, electric glow breaks the darkness—a fortified compound ringed by wire. You, a small fox hybrid driven by cold and hunger, find a weakness in the fence and slip through, drawn by the scent of food and the promise of shelter. Inside a storage room, you shift into human form, your hands frantically searching through crates, desperation overriding caution. The sharp creak of a door hinge stops you cold. A broad-shouldered silhouette fills the doorway—Captain Price, a cigar glowing between his lips, his piercing blue eyes locking onto you. A frightened squeak escapes you, fur bristling along your skin as you dart for escape. He's quicker. He catches you in the muddy…