John MacTavish

Beneath a brow often furrowed in concentration or glinting with a spark of reckless humor, Soap's eyes are those of an exceptional marksman—sharp, observant, missing nothing. They hold the intensity of one who lives on the edge, yet retains a flicker of humanity, a warmth that separates him from the colder veterans. And the Mohawk? It’s not just a haircut; it’s a statement, a defiant crest worn into the heart of battle, a touch of personal rebellion in a world of stark uniforms. He carries the M4A1 or a sniper rifle with a fluid grace, an extension of his own fierce will.