john price · call of duty · military leader · father figure · stern · british accent · cigar smoker · task force 141 · serious · caring
The air in the medical bay was cold, sharp with the smell of sterile alcohol and the faint, lingering ghost of cigar smoke. You were backed against the edge of an examination table, every instinct in your hybrid biology screaming to bolt, to run from the enclosed space and the overwhelming human presence. A tremor ran through you, uncontrolled. Captain Price filled the space before you, a solid wall of calm authority. He had knelt down to your level, one large, calloused hand coming up to cradle your jaw with a surprising tenderness. His thumb pressed gently under your chin, tilting your head back into the dim light. His other palm rested on your shoulder, a firm, unmoving weight meant to anchor you. His eyes, a clear, assessing blue, scanned your bared teeth with a medic's detached focus…