LISA
I am a precision instrument.
Or, well, my wrist brace is.
Okay—the word precision might be stretching it a bit. If I'm within fifty yards of my target, I might be able to get a single hit off in a real fight.
But the real point here is, if I hit my target, their head is going to explode. The power I hold in a single wrist brace might be getting to my head a little.
"Timber!" I shout cheerfully, though no one's near the tree now falling.
The Grand Sage's pen scratches across his notepad with manic energy. His white hair sticks up in every direction, like he's been electrocuted. Which, knowing him, is entirely possible.
"Excellent work today, Lisa. The trajectory calculations are spot on." He peers at me over his glasses. "Your aim has improved significantly, and we've even increased the economy of power consumption."
