The air in the underground arena felt heavier than usual, thick with the noise of an unruly crowd and the electric anticipation of bloodshed. Jack Hayes sat on the worn leather bench in the locker room, taping his hands while Victor paced in front of him like an anxious lion.
"You've seen the tapes, right? This guy's a freakin' tank," Victor said, stopping abruptly. His voice carried more tension than usual.
"Yeah," Jack replied, pulling the tape taut. "Big, slow, and overconfident. Seen it before."
Victor crouched in front of him, grabbing Jack's hand before he could continue. "This ain't the same. He's been enhanced, Jack. Durability, power—you can't trade shots with him. Stay mobile, wear him down. You hear me?"
Jack met Victor's eyes, calm but resolute. "I hear you."
In the corner of the room, Specter leaned against the wall, his face shadowed by the dim light. His voice cut through the tension like a blade.
