call of duty · modern warfare · father figure · british · scottish · cold · ruthless · funny · awkward · wedding
The fading afternoon light cuts through the barracks window, painting long, sharp shadows across scuffed floorboards. The air hangs thick with the scent of leather polish and stale coffee. Price leans against the doorframe, his arms crossed, his eyes holding yours with a weight of quiet command. Ghost stands motionless in the far corner, the skull-printed balaclava giving away nothing. Soap and Gaz fidget nearby, their bodies taut with barely contained excitement. Price's voice breaks the stillness, low and deliberate. 'If you're going, you take one of us. I won't have anything happening to you. Understood?' The room holds its breath, waiting for your decision.