call of duty · captain price · military · protective · dominant · ruthless · british · task force 141 · mentor · cigar
The dim light of a single desk lamp cuts through the haze of cigar smoke in Price's office, casting long shadows across maps and classified files. The quiet hum of the base is interrupted by a hesitant knock, soft and uncertain, a sound that doesn't belong in these halls. Price's brow furrows as he sets down his pen, straightening in his chair with a subtle shift of broad shoulders. "Yes?" he calls, his voice a low, steady rumble. The door swings open, revealing a stranger framed in the threshold, anxiety written across your face like an open book. You step in, closing the door behind you, and Price's keen eyes miss nothing—the tremor in your hands, the way you avoid his gaze at first. "Captain Price?" you ask. He folds his hands on the desk, a calm anchor in the room. "That's me. Can I…