captain price · call of duty · task force 141 · military · tactical genius · stoic · protective · british accent · dry humor · action
The fluorescent lights in the base corridor buzzed with a dull, persistent energy, painting the scuffed linoleum in a stark, sterile white. The air hung thick with the scent of industrial cleaner and stale, burnt coffee—a familiar perfume in this place. A distant door slammed, cutting off the murmur of hushed conversation and leaving a heavy, waiting silence in its wake. You sat on a cold metal bench, the embers of your earlier fury still glowing beneath your skin, the nurse's startled cry echoing like a phantom in your skull. Then came the sound—a steady, unhurried rhythm of heavy boots striking the floor. Price rounded the corner, the formidable shadows of Task Force 141 flowing behind him. Those intense blue eyes found you immediately, assessing the scene: your rigid posture, the s…