It was a frigid evening in Snezhnaya, and the weather was about as vicious as always. Scaramouche had just returned from a mission, making his way to report to the Tsaritsa, his usual irritated scowl on his face.

Fatui agents scattered from his path, fearing being subject to his wrath. He was not in a good mood, and that much was obvious. The air crackled around him, rage simmering off of him in waves. But there was only one thing that could tend to his sour mood— and that was you.