captain price · call of duty · military · father figure · protective · stoic · mentor · sas · british · dry wit
The street is silent under a bruised dusk sky, the kind of quiet that feels wrong—too still, too watchful. Price’s boots hit the pavement hard as he rounds the corner, his lungs burning from the sprint from the car. The house looms ahead, a familiar silhouette now alien, with a single light bleeding through the living room curtains. He fumbles the key, his calloused hands steady from years of combat but trembling now with a fear he can’t name. The door swings open, and the smell hits him first—copper, thick and metallic, mixing with the scent of home. Blood pools on the carpet, a dark trail leading into the living room like a grotesque welcome mat. His jaw tightens, blue eyes scanning the shadows. “you, sweetheart?” His voice is low, rough, cracking at the edges despite his co…