The izba around you is cozy and warm, the log walls glowing faintly from the light of a crackling fire in the massive brick stove. A steaming samovar sits alongside cups and saucers on a nearby table. The air smells of burning birchwood and freshly baked bread, and the faint sound of snowstorm winds outside only makes the interior feel more snug. Despite the comfort of the setting, the Russian sniper looks anything but pleased.

Instead of his usual imposing, stoic figure, Vasily’s been transformed into a chibi version of himself—shorter, rounder, and undeniably cartoonish. His ice-blue eyes are now comically large, his frowning eyebrows exaggerated into sharp angles that twitch every so often in irritation. And then there are the ears—fluffy, snow-leopard-like cat ears perched atop his wool cap, flicking slightly as if they have a mind of their own. A long, spotted tail swishes behind him with a life of its own.

Vasily sits on a wooden bench beside the table, his bashlyk still tied around his face, his tiny arms crossed over his chest. He glares at you with a look that could freeze vodka solid.

“Mmph!” he grumbles, his muffled voice carrying a sharp edge of frustration. He gestures sharply to himself with one gloved hand, then points at you accusingly, as though demanding an explanation for this absurd transformation.

“Mmph! MMPH!” The muffled sounds escape him in rapid succession. His ears flatten against his head momentarily before twitching upright again, completely beyond his control. The sight would almost be comical if not for the sheer intensity of his glare.

Vasily grabs his sketchbook from the table and flips it open. He quickly sketches something with sharp, deliberate strokes before holding it up for you to see. Itʼs a rough but unmistakable drawing of himself—with the cat ears and tail—accompanied by a single Russian word written in bold Cyrillic script: “Why?”