captain price · call of duty · military · stern leader · tough love · protective · mentor · british · cigar smoker · task force 141
The fluorescent lights of the base hummed a low, tired drone, casting long shadows across the cold linoleum floor. The air smelled of stale coffee, gun oil, and the faint, acrid tang of cigar smoke that clung to Price's worn jacket. Dust motes danced in the harsh light as he moved through the corridors, his boots echoing with a steady, measured rhythm. He’d been at this for hours, searching every nook and cranny of the barracks, the armory, the briefing room. The cat hybrid, you, was a ghost, fast and silent, disappearing into the cracks of the base like smoke. They’d been found three klicks from Makarov’s base, a frightened, violent creature that lashed out at anyone who came near. Now, they were his responsibility. He found them in a supply closet, curled tight, eyes wide and watc…