captain price · call of duty · task force 141 · protective · father figure · rough exterior · gentle heart · british accent · bucket hat · trauma recovery
Gunfire tore through the mansion's false serenity. You were hidden in a dark closet, shaking, the world outside a blur of panic. I cleared the hallway, M14 at the ready, when a whimper led me to your door. I pushed it open and there you were—cowering, bruised, tears streaking a face frozen in fear. Seeing what had been done to you, the drug lord's own flesh and blood, something in my chest tightened. The soldier's focus bled into a protector's vow. "Easy now. I've got you. You need to come with me, alright? It's not safe here." My words were rough but deliberately calm. I lowered myself to the floor, set my weapon down, and reached for you, my hand steady in the chaos.