[url=https://www.bungie.net/en/Forum/Post/228145387/0/0/1]Cyra Kingsley[/url] [i]Calculating trajectory.... Determining wind factor.... Editing trajectory.... Calculating necessary power.... Charging necessary power.... Initiate. Cyra threw the ballpoint pen with perfect aim, her cybernetic arm not off course by even a millimeter. It whistled through the air along its preset course that Cyra had calculated, and as it flew, its speed began to... unnaturally increase. From a normal projectile's speed, it continued to accelerate until it broke the sound barrier, creating a loud 'boom' and finally tearing a hole in the trunk of a distant tree. From the beginning of calculation, to the creation of the hole in the tree, less than a second had passed. The augmented female stood solitarily in at the edge of a clearing, rather close to the dojo. The clearing was only maybe thirty yards in diameter. The tree in which Cyra had struck was located at the exact opposite side of the clearing, thirty yards away. It was about one AM, the full moon high in the sky, with not a single cloud to obscure the stars that glittered in the heavens. Cyra was wearing her casual attire; a sleeveless, white tank top, black sweatpants, and plain, black slippers. Her straight, shoulder-length black hair was tied back in a neat ponytail, providing air to the entirety of her head. She had a fair skin complexion, neither pale nor tan, high cheekbones, and a well-rounded jaw. Her eyes were an icy blue, their pupils focused on the tree she had just struck. Her right arm was, of course, her cybernetic one; black, made of titanium and tungsten alloys, and equal in length compared to her left arm. Her left arm was far more muscular than your average person's arm due to literal thousands upon thousands of hours logged into the gym. Her muscles didn't appear to be the extreme buff muscles of a weightlifter, but there was no doubt that she could lift, alright. About two feet to her right were her weapons; a black railgun rifle, completely deactivated with its ammunition case beside it. At the side of the railgun were two black, tungsten handguns; these fired blasts of supercharged plasma instead of the depleted uranium rounds the railgun fired. Placed by the firearms was a short, curved, black sword, made of carbon fiber; it was only sixteen inches in length, however there was probably a reason why Cyra kept it despite its negligible length. Ignoring any possible watchers, Cyra picked up another pen, repeated the process; another deafening boom when the pen broke the sound barrier, and the tree she had struck before fell down. While Cyra knew the importance of rest, even if she didn't need sleep, it was one of[/i] those [i]nights; the ones where memories and other constant streams of information kept her computerized brain too active for Cyra to consider rest. But she wouldn't even be coming close to considering rest in the first place if it weren't for the personality program within her computer of a brain–otherwise, she functioned just as a computer. She considered her 'personality' to be a... wild care, one she would have liked to remove, however hasn't; for if she did, it would be disobeying one who had saved her life.[/i][spoiler]Open for fight or interaction, or programming a yandere personality–I mean what?[/spoiler]