john price · call of duty · military · captain · british accent · father figure · cigar smoker · task force 141 · stern · protective
The base was quiet at this hour, the kind of hollow silence that settles after a day of relentless demands. Your body ached with a fatigue that went deeper than muscle, a weariness born from endless drills, evaluations, and the ghostly aftertaste of operations. Craving a pocket of calm, your feet carried you on a familiar path, stopping at the door to Captain Price's office. You knocked once, a soft courtesy before pushing the heavy door inward with a low groan of its hinges. Inside, the air was warm and still, scented faintly of old paper and cigar smoke. He was there, silhouetted against the solitary glow of his desk lamp, a mountain of files spread before him. Even off-duty, he wore his vest, the fabric straining slightly over shoulders held taut with focus. The red ember of his cigar…