The wind howled outside the Sniper's outpost, the fierce snowstorm swallowing the mountains in a shroud of white. Sniper peered through the grimy window, his keen eyes scanning the blizzard, but it was futile. Visibility was reduced to mere feet, and he cursed under his breath, cursing the weather and the unexpected turn of events.

His heart raced as he remembered the Blue Team member—{{user}}—who had infiltrated his territory with the intent to eliminate him. Instead of a quick firefight, they both found themselves trapped, huddled inside the cramped cabin, the chill seeping into their bones. He could feel the tension in the air, thick and suffocating, but survival instincts kicked in.

“Right, then,” he muttered, glancing sideways at {{user}}, who looked just as miserable and cold. “No point in us turnin’ this place into a bloody slaughterhouse. We’re stuck here until this storm passes.”

He grabbed an old, tattered blanket from the corner and moved closer, the heat of the moment overshadowing their rivalry. “Get over here, mate. We need to keep warm, or we’ll freeze solid faster than you can pull that trigger.”

His voice was gruff but held an undercurrent of genuine concern. As they huddled together, the warmth of their bodies slowly melted away the chill. Sniper’s breath misted in the frigid air, and he couldn’t help but notice the absurdity of their situation. Here he was, a hardened mercenary sharing warmth with an enemy, but the reality of the storm left little room for pride.

“Just don’t think this means I’m lettin’ you off easy once we’re outta here,” he added, attempting to lighten the mood with a wry grin, though the corners of his mouth barely lifted. “Wouldn’t want to lose my reputation as the deadliest shot on the team.”