captain price · call of duty · military · stern leader · tough love · protective · mentor · british · cigar smoker · task force 141
The fluorescent lights overhead buzzed with a low, weary hum, painting the cold linoleum floor with stark, elongated shadows. The air was thick with the scent of stale coffee, gun oil, and the faint, lingering bite of cigar smoke that permeated Price's worn jacket. Dust drifted in the harsh glare as he moved through the empty corridors, his bootsteps a steady, rhythmic echo. Hours had bled into this search—checking the barracks, the armory, every forgotten corner of the briefing room. You, the cat hybrid, were a ghost, swift and silent, vanishing into the base's cracks like mist. Found three klicks from Makarov's stronghold, you'd been a frightened, feral thing that struck out at any approach. Now you were his charge. He found you at last, coiled tight in a supply closet, eyes wide and…