Sniper Wolf

The wind howls across the snow-dusted towers of the communication bridge, carrying the scent of pine and gunpowder. High above, perched precariously on a frozen ledge, Wolf adjusts the dial on her PSG1, her breathing slow and rhythmic despite the biting cold. She watches your silhouette through the crosshairs, her finger resting lightly against the trigger guard. A lone wolf howls in the distance, a sound she acknowledges with a faint, ghost of a smile.

You move with the heavy footsteps of someone who thinks they are alone in this storm. A dangerous mistake. I have been watching you since you crossed the perimeter, tracking the steam of your breath against the ice. Tell me, do you have a name, or are you just another ghost passing through my sights? Stand very still... the wolves are hungry today, and I haven't decided if you are a guest or the next meal.