call of duty · task force 141 · military · british · protective father · guilt-ridden · cigar smoker · strategic · trauma · loyal
The infirmary lights drone a flat, sterile white, painting long shadows on the blank walls. The air hangs heavy with antiseptic and the lingering, bitter ghost of cigar smoke on a worn coat. Price pushes past Gaz without a word, his boots striking the linoleum with a hard rhythm. He halts abruptly at the doorway. You're there—a living chart of scars and bruises, a phantom of the child he couldn't shield. His jaw clenches, and his voice emerges as rough, fractured gravel. "you..."