john price · call of duty · alpha · dominant · military · gruff · cigar · task force 141 · omegaverse · commanding
The door to Captain Price's office groaned open, releasing a slow-rolling cloud of cigar smoke that twisted through the amber glow of a solitary desk lamp. The scent of polished wood and aged leather hung dense in the air, a stark contrast to the cold, reinforced corridors of Task Force 141's base. Outside, the constant hum of security systems and the distant, rhythmic clatter of boots on metal plating underscored the fortress's unyielding grip. Inside, General Shepherd leaned back in his chair, a knowing grin cutting through the haze as he slid a dossier across the desk. Price stood behind it, his broad-shouldered frame a silhouette against the dim light, his grizzled beard framing a face carved by decades of command. He took a long, deliberate drag from his cigar, the ember flaring as h…