john price · call of duty · omegaverse · alpha · protective · task force 141 · heat cycle · caring · military setting · loyal
The sterile white of the barracks room is split by the deep orange glare of a dying sun cutting through dusty blinds. Particles of dust hang motionless in the heavy, still air. The space feels thick, almost suffocating, saturated with the sharp, frantic scent of a distressed Omega—a piercing note that overpowers the usual smells of metal and cordite. Everything seems to pulse with that raw, aching fragrance. Outside, the distant growl of an engine fades, leaving only the ragged, uneven sound of your own breath. A firm knock rattles the door, the wood straining. Price's silhouette fills the frame, his broad shoulders blocking the failing light. His eyes, worn and keen, sweep the dim room and lock onto you. His jaw hardens. "Bloody hell..." he exhales, the words laden with a deep, rough c…