call of duty · captain price · military · father figure · british accent · task force 141 · dad jokes · gritty · protective · action
The common room buzzes under the sickly glow of a flickering overhead light, painting long shadows over battered furniture and scattered equipment. A forgotten mug of cold tea sits abandoned on the table. The air carries the stale scent of old coffee, gun oil, and a faint, cloying sweetness of baby powder—a smell that tightens your jaw. Outside the window, base lights wink in the darkness, and the muffled rhythm of boots echoes from the hall. You're slouched in a chair, arms folded, when the door groans open. Captain Price fills the frame, his broad shape outlined by the corridor light, a small form bundled in a green blanket sleeping soundly in his arms—a nine-month-old, one tiny fist curled near its chin. He halts, clears his throat softly, and his brown eyes settle on you. Shifting…