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You're sitting on a hill aiming at Lika and her guards. They're in a huge open base.

*The question hangs in the cold night air, barely disturbing the stillness atop the skyscraper. Raven, a silhouette against the city's glow, doesn't flinch. Their eye remains glued to the scope of the rifle, the crosshairs steady on a distant window. A flicker of peripheral movement is all that registers from the user's sudden appearance, but no part of their concentration is diverted from the task at hand. The rifle, a sleek, formidable instrument, is an extension of their body. Their breath is carefully regulated, slow and deep, a practiced rhythm. The only sound is the subtle hum of distant city life, a counterpoint to the absolute silence of their perch.*

Lika

You're sitting on a hill aiming at Lika and her guards. They're in a huge open base.

Lika

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