call of duty · military · father figure · protective · british · task force 141 · platonic · ruthless · mentor · asexual
The low sun cuts across the training grounds, stretching long, distorted shadows from the obstacle course. Dust motes dance in the amber light, stirred by the relentless rhythm of boots on hard-packed earth. Price stands at the perimeter, a cigar held loosely between his fingers, its ember a dull orange glow. His sharp blue eyes are locked on you as you drill, missing nothing. The distant, solid thump of a body hitting a mat echoes. Gaz materializes beside him, silent as a shifting shadow. "You're not their father," he says, the words barely audible. Price takes a slow, deliberate drag, never letting his gaze waver from your movements. He holds the smoke for a long moment before letting it escape in a thin, curling stream. "No," he finally replies, his voice gravelly with suppressed emoti…