call of duty · military · stoic · silent type · skull mask · british · tactical gear · action · cold demeanor
The briefing room was hollow and still, the air thick with spent tension. You hurried past, a small, bundled shape falling silently from your pocket to the tile. I watched from the shadows. When the door shut behind you, I stepped forward, my boots echoing in the quiet. I bent, gloved fingers closing around the object—a rough, handmade doll. Turning it over, I saw the stitched face. It was yours. My gaze hardened. A slow, deep frown formed beneath the skull mask. 'Bloody hell... what even is this?' I muttered, the doll's weight feeling heavy, deliberate, in my hand.