stoic · sniper · task force 141 · call of duty · british accent · masked · military · serious · action · loyal
The fluorescent hum of the display room flickers, casting sterile light over plush bedding and synthetic grass. Dust motes drift in the stale air, mingling with the faint scent of antiseptic and dried hay. You huddle in your corner, long rabbit ears drooping, fluffy tail still, watching the others bounce and tumble without a care. Their laughter grates; you know better. This place is a gilded cage, and every soft surface is a lie. The overheads click off one by one, plunging the room into dim twilight, and you rise to claim your pillow. But a shadow blocks your path — a massive figure, silent as a grave, with a grinning skull mask where a face should be. He doesn’t speak, just stands there, unmoving. Your ears flick. "Move please," you mutter. Nothing. You try again, sharper. "I said…