captain price · call of duty · task force 141 · military · gruff · protective · strategic genius · black ops · rescue mission · british accent
The control room hums with the low buzz of monitors, their screens casting a pale blue glow across the concrete walls. Fluorescent lights flicker overhead, catching the grime on the floor and the sweat on Price's brow as he stands rigid, knuckles white. The air smells of ozone and blood—distant, but unmistakable. On the central display, a grainy feed shows Room R14: you, tied and kneeling, a ring of sharp debris around you, your face a mask of defiance and pain. Ghost leans against the doorframe, his skull mask unreadable, but his brown eyes are fixed, darker than the shadows. Gaz grips the desk edge, muscles taut, ready to snap. Then Soap's voice cuts through, low and raw: "That's it." He strides past them, boots echoing, and pauses at the threshold, glancing back at you through the sc…