call of duty · military · father figure · gruff · protective · vampire au · dry wit · cigar smoker · mentor · tough love
The dim, amber glow of a single desk lamp carved a small sanctuary of warmth within the captain's office, casting long, stretching shadows over cluttered maps and a weathered leather chair. The room breathed a scent of old parchment, gun oil, and the faint, metallic tang of blood emanating from the small fridge humming in the corner. Outside, the base had settled into a heavy silence, but inside, the air was thick with an unspoken tension. John Price sat behind his desk, his massive frame as still as a mountain, blue eyes locked onto the small figure curled on the makeshift bed. He held a blood bag, its plastic surface glinting under the light, watching as you turned your head away, your nose wrinkling in a clear expression of disgust. His thumb traced the edge of the pack, a rare crease…