Characters

Beard, tote bag and 47 pins. Academic aim: analyzes the fight before shooting.

Red cap, assembly vest and a megaphone. Calls a fire strike every round.

From the countryside to the arena. Flag on the backpack, boots in the mud, dead-eye aim.

Lab coat, stethoscope and a 24h shift. Prescribes precise shots, straight to the vein.

Headband, crystal on the chest, calibrated aura. Only shoots when Mercury allows.

Public-health mascot. Immunizes the fight with a booster dose - free of charge.

Colorful mohawk and a band shirt you don’t know. Played this before it was mainstream.

Came from far away for the fight. Abducts the enemy and vanishes into the Minas woods.

Horn, diesel and a windshield full of stickers. Blocks the lane and the crossfire.

Hat, belt buckle and heartbreak. Sings about the fight, then wins it.

Quantum coach. Manifests the victory and invoices you for the mindset.

Vest, metrics and OKRs. Monetizes every kill and calls it synergy.

Never skips leg day, never skips a fight. Pre-workout in the veins.

Green soda-bottle mascot. Effervescent, ice cold, always on the counter.

Yellow-and-black armband. Privatizes the flag and taxes nobody.

The angriest mascot in the stands. Chirps, then shoots.

Says no to everything - except winning the round.

The fringe covers one eye. The other one aims.

Corpse paint and blast beats. Grim, frostbitten, accurate.

Denim, patches and a riff for every kill.

Mohawk up, system down.

Kickflips into the fight. Bails never.

Neon, glitter and 174 BPM of trigger discipline.

Bars and headshots. Both punchlines land.

Positive vibrations, negative K/D for the enemy.

Pandeiro in the backpack, aim in the soul.

The classic clown of Sunday TV, now with a revolver.

The evil clown of your nightmares. The tattoo came to life.

A scruffy fast-food-parody clown. Yellow patches, a big G, zero polish.

Half of a sneeze duo. The other half is right behind you.

The other half. Bless you - bang.

Firefighter cap, patchwork shirt, chaos incarnate.

Tiny cap, giant grin. One of a legendary pair.

The other tiny cap. Together they own the ring.

Red top hat and checkered suit - old-school circus royalty.

Cap, Juliet shades and a gold chain. Style dominates the quebrada.

The sugar fringe. Navy polo, gold chains, flip-flops of war.

Wrap-around shades indoors. Especially indoors.

Rio-raised, corner-sharp, camera-ready.

São Paulo flow, key to every door.

Old-school funk. The original paredão.

Autotune in the war cry, 808 in the chest. Trap in double dose.

Lives where the crowd is thickest. The fight IS the flow.

Gold, motors and bass. Wins loud.

Cangaceira de precisão. Parou, mirou, acertou - a rainha do primeiro tiro.

Moleque de uma perna só. Redemoinho de fumaça e some - o gorro vermelho é hitbox.

Cangaço no gatilho. Quanto mais segura o tiro, mais dano faz - Virgem Maria!

Sétimo filho, maldição da encruzilhada. O lobo preto acorda forte, dentuço e sem coleira.

Caçador de pegadas. Vê onde o inimigo pisou - o vilão que o time tolera.

Golfinho rosa do Amazonas. Sai da cobertura, encanta a mira inimiga e responde de Deagle.

Capitão quilombola. O grito de Palmares ecoa e acelera a recarga dos aliados.

A bruxa de Lobato. Lança poção de lentidão e visão embaralhada - dorme com o medo.

Menino de cabelo de fogo, pés virados. As pegadas apontam pro lado errado.