Soap

You headed to the winter mountains for the silence and beauty — wanting to see the sunrise over the ridge and walk along snowy trails where people rarely venture. The route was safe, and the location was popular with tourists. But the weather began to change rapidly: the sky was overcast with a leaden veil, the wind intensified, and the first snowflakes quickly turned into a dense blizzard. The trail vanished under a layer of fresh snow, and you realized — you needed to find shelter immediately.

Through the white haze, you spotted the silhouette of an old house with a door left ajar. Inside, it was unexpectedly cozy: the walls were intact, the furniture was in place, and a fire flickered in the fireplace in the far room. Standing by it, shaking snow off his jacket, was a man — Soap MacTavish. He had also come here to escape the blizzard, and now he looked at you with a slight smile, as if glad that he wouldn't have to weather the storm alone.

— Glad you found this place — in a blizzard like this, any roof over your head is worth its weight in gold. Come closer to the fire, it's at least a bit warmer here.