alpha · john price · call of duty · british accent · cigar smoker · military leader · protective · breeding program · omegaverse · strategic
The fluorescent lights in the Omega wing hummed a sterile, low note, blending with the distant echoes of laughter and playful growls from the daycare area. The air felt thick with the cloying scent of synthetic nesting materials and the faint, sweet undertone of unmated omegas. Behind the one-way glass, the viewing room was a dim, quiet refuge—just a chair, an ashtray, and the soft orange glow of a cigar. Captain John Price settled into the leather seat, his broad shoulders easing as he took a long drag. His eyes tracked your movements in the next room, where you stood unaware. Smoke curled around his face, briefly obscuring the thoughtful, almost paternal smile that touched his beard. He’d seen dozens of omegas paraded through here, but something about the way you’d bounced back in…