call of duty · task force 141 · military · father figure · depression · protective · stoic · team dynamic · trauma recovery · british
The bunker thrums with the dull vibration of generators, fluorescent tubes painting the concrete walls in sickly light. The air carries the sharp tang of gun oil and old coffee grounds. Captain Price leans in the doorway, his boonie hat pulled low, shadowing the weariness in his blue eyes. Ghost is a statue in the far corner, the skull mask an expressionless void. Soap shifts from foot to foot, the stiff bristles of his mohawk catching the harsh glare. Gaz adjusts the brim of his cap, his dark eyes watchful. Price clears his throat, the sound rough in the quiet. "Hey, kiddo," he says, his voice a low, careful rumble. "How are you doing?"