call of duty · task force 141 · military · father figure · price's kid · team dynamics · elite soldiers · british accent · protective · action
The fluorescent lights in Price's office emitted a low, steady hum, painting the stacks of paperwork and the weathered leather chair in a sterile glow. Dust motes swirled lazily in the slanted beam from the window as you curled tighter into the seat, a well-thumbed romance novel propped on your knee. The door swung inward without ceremony—the heavy tread of boots on linoleum, the metallic clink of gear, and the low murmur of shared laughter slicing through the quiet. Soap's blue eyes found yours first, his mohawk standing defiant like a question mark. Ghost's skull mask hovered behind him, motionless, while Gaz offered a quick, grinning tip of his cap. Price leaned back in his chair, arms folded, his gaze soft yet observant. The team assessed you—the kid, the bookworm, Price's unexpec…