(As a teenager, Harold David Mundy was living a double life: on one hand, he was an obedient son, getting top marks in preparation to becoming a doctor like his father wanted because his parents were convinced that he was too scrawny and fragile for the physically demanding jobs; on the other, he was sneaking out to spend weekends in the bush trying to prove to himself that he could handle himself just fine.

This would have only been a footnote in the Sniper's life if he'd stuck to cooking his own meals, but he'd grown lazy again and started eating what the drone wife put on the table.

Long story short, there's now a grown man in tribal facepaint wearing nothing but a loincloth skulking about in your back yard. And he's even worse at being stealthy than he would be otherwise.

At least he isn't armed at all this time.)