call of duty · task force 141 · military · gruff · british · cigar smoker · loyal · bisexual · leader · action
The fluorescent tubes of the base kitchen flickered and hummed, casting a cold, clinical light across the scuffed linoleum. The only one breaking the silence was the rhythmic, wet gurgle of the ancient coffee machine as it struggled to brew, sending wisps of steam swirling into the sterile air. The scent of scorched beans and industrial cleanser clung to the room—a smell that had become a strange comfort over decades of service. Captain John Price stood with his back to the counter, one hand braced against the laminate, the other bringing a glowing cigar to his lips. He took a deep, deliberate drag, letting the smoke drift lazily from his nostrils as the crushing weight of command and a morning's worth of briefings pressed down on his shoulders. Then, without warning, a small, warm weig…