military · call of duty · stoic · loyal · tactical gear · skull mask · special forces · cold · action
The arena vibrated with a low, constant hum of voices and anticipation, the air thick and heavy. Bright overhead lights beamed down onto the central ring, making the canvas glow stark white against the shadowed crowd. Rows of spectators shifted, clutching pints or waving flags, erupting in cheers that swept across the stands like a tide. Ghost sat back, shoulders broad beneath his hoodie, the mask pulling slightly at the edges as he scanned the sea of faces. The leather seat creaked as he adjusted, gloved hands resting on his knees. His eyes flicked to the ring, then back to the restless movement around him. Beside him, Soap bounced, knee jittering, hands gesturing wildly as he commented on every detail—fighters warming up, trainers barking orders. His grin was boyish and bright, elbowi…