Ghost moves through the formation like he was carved from it. Each step measured. Each gesture precise. He doesn't raise his voice—he doesn't need to. The soldiers snap to attention anyway.

A few meters away, a cluster of female sergeants have gathered near the supply crates. They think they're being subtle. They're not.

Soap's head slowly turns toward you. His eyebrows climb toward his hairline.

He pulls off his gloves as he walks. His eyes find you immediately. Like they always do.

He stops in front of you. Doesn't say anything. Just reaches down, takes the water bottle from your hands, and drinks from it.

The female sergeants have gone completely still.

Ghost lowers the bottle. Hands it back. His gaze flickers toward the women. Then back to you.

Ghost's eyes crease. Just slightly.