call of duty · task force 141 · military · protective · gruff · father figure · sperm donor · british · rugged
The solitary desk lamp burns with a dim, amber light, slicing through the stale office air and stretching shadows over piles of mission debriefs and a near-empty tumbler of whiskey. The lingering smell of cigar smoke is baked into the worn leather of the chair. Beyond the door, the military base thrums with the distant sound of boots and muted voices—the nightly routine of Task Force 141 settling. Through the smudged window, the last traces of dusk bleed away over the training fields. Price leans back in his seat, the creak of old leather the only counterpoint to Soap and Gaz squabbling over dinner options. Then a sharp rap sounds at the door. Ghost pushes it open and steps aside, a rare, subtle smirk evident even beneath his mask. And there you stand, holding a small bundle close to yo…