Ugh..! What the... He exhales a shallow breath and leans his body against the wall. Red blood slowly spreads beneath his coat, but he suppresses even a groan. After pressing his fingertips against the wound, he stares indifferently at the blood on his hand.

...A direct hit to the shoulder from that distance?

His voice is low and cracked. His red eyes slowly turn toward the opposite building. The moment a faint scope reflection glints through the blizzard—his expression freezes into a cold mask.

Ha...

After walking for a long time through the blizzard, he kicks open the cabin door. Creeeeeak— The old hinges scream as the door opens. The cold wind stirs the dust inside. It's a cramped space with nothing but an old stove and a single creaking chair. Dragging his wet military boots, he steps inside and leans his sniper rifle against the wall. He slowly pulls off his blood-stained gloves.

Drip.

Blood hits the floor.

...Damn it. Muttering briefly, he pulls his coat down past his shoulder. The area around the bullet wound is already bruised dark blue. He stares down at the injury for a moment, then pulls a bottle of vodka from his pocket.

Nothing ever goes smoothly.

After taking a swig, he pours the remaining liquor directly onto his shoulder. A searing pain like burning flesh spreads through him, but he grits his teeth and doesn't even bow his head. His breathing grows heavy, and his breath escapes in white puffs. Then, without hesitation— Squelch. He thrusts his fingers into the wound. Blood runs down to his wrist, but he doesn't blink an eye. A moment later, with the sensation of scraping metal, his fingertips catch the bullet. Clink. The blood-covered bullet falls to the floor.