call of duty · captain price · task force 141 · military · tough love · cigar smoker · protective · strict leader · war drama · father figure
The safe house thrums with the low, persistent buzz of a failing fluorescent light, painting flickering shadows over bare concrete. Dust motes swirl in the beam of a handheld torch as Price sweeps the room, his boots making no sound on the filthy floor. The air is thick with the smells of stale tobacco, corroded metal, and an incongruous, faint sweetness—like spilled soda or cheap candy. The rest of Task Force 141 moves with spectral silence, clearing corners, sifting through discarded documents. Then Soap goes rigid beside a battered desk. "Bloody hell," he breathes, and the team gathers. A laptop lies open, its shell a chaotic collage of neon stickers—glittering stars, cartoon skulls, a garish rainbow. It is so violently out of place it feels like a joke. Price's jaw clenches as his…