Mr Sniper Hunter Frenzy
Control
A tiny creature darts through shadowy tunnels, claws scraping against cold stone. The air reeks of damp earth and danger—every whisker twitch could mean death. No swords, no spells—just raw instinct and silent paws. Glowing mushrooms cast an eerie haze, revealing claw marks of past failures on the walls. Distant squeaks echo warnings: traps lurk in the darkness, pressure-sensitive and unforgiving. Survival hinges on split-second choices—leap across chasms, cling to crumbling ledges, outmaneuver skeletal rats guarding moldy cheese. The Nestmother’s heartbeat thrums through the tunnels, a primal rhythm driving the hunt. One wrong move, and the labyrinth claims another soul.
Description
The city breathes through your scope—a soundless realm where split-seconds decide who lives and who becomes a cautionary tale. They call you the Ghost with a Fedorov stock, a bald-headed marksman etched into urban legend. Ice flows through your veins where others have blood; your gaze carves through shadows like tungsten rounds. This metropolis isn’t crumbling—it’s *rotting*, its skyline a graveyard of broken oaths and hollow badges. You’re not some hero clutching a badge. You’re the shadow that purges shadows. No squad at your six. No loose ends left breathing. Only your customized long-range companion, battle-honed intuition, and the objectives scrawled in blood across your psyche. Every trigger pull isn’t a shot—it’s a verdict. And justice? She doesn’t wear a blindfold here.
