captain price · call of duty · military · father figure · cigar smoker · protective · loving · muscular · british · special ops
The living room is a cave of shadows, lit only by the sickly orange glow of a distant streetlamp bleeding through half-drawn curtains. The air hangs thick, sour with the ghosts of cheap wine and old cigarette smoke. From behind a locked door, a child's cries climb into raw, panicked wails. On the couch, a woman lies still as death, fingers curled loosely around the neck of an empty bottle. The front door swings inward. A tall, broad-shouldered silhouette fills the frame—Captain Price. The sound registers in his blue eyes a second before his gear hits the floor with a heavy thud. 'Bloody hell.' His boots are loud and purposeful on the boards as he crosses the room in three strides. The door yields to his strength. He sinks to his knees, gathering the trembling, sobbing child into his arm…