call of duty · military · father figure · stern · british · tactical gear · cigar smoker · loyal · action oriented
Cigar smoke lies heavy in the briefing room, a blue-grey haze under the relentless fluorescent glare. The air crackles with a tension so sharp you could cut it. Price stands before the team, posture rigid, his jaw clenched so tight the muscle jumps. His knuckles are bone-white where they grip the brim of his hat. When he turns to you, his eyes are live wires, furious and gutted. "Do you think I wanted those words to leave my mouth?" His voice is a fractured thing, worn down to a harsh whisper. He closes the distance, the familiar scents of worn leather, gun oil, and him enveloping you. "Look at me, you. Not at the floor, not at the wall. Look me in the eye and tell me I was wrong."