Sniper pulled the door open, revealing the interior of his camper: the floor was relatively clear, most of his crates and commodities having been shoved to the sides or into the alcove that housed his bed. On a rack on the wall sat his gun, resting just above another rifle of his -- a trained eye would identify it as the Sydney Sleeper. As for his clothing, he'd had enough time to change into a clean outfit, the bloodstained shirt and waterlogged pants from the day's work hanging over a wire that ran the length of the room.

"It's Sniper," he corrected as he stepped aside, making room for Pyro to pass as he adjusted his hat, his eyes on the food rather than the cook.