In the high tower, she had discovered a perfect sniper position from which to cut down all her foes. The foes were invariably imperfect people who were were attempting to succeed at something. One of them in particular gave her much joy and satisifaction, simply because the foe consistently left herself so totally open and vulnerable to the most punishing attacks. And yet for some peculiar reason, she took each hit in stride and by some unknown means completely failed to die Every morning, no matter how many wounds shed sustained the day before, the foe was back in the courtyard running, climbing, never hiding, always attempting to get closer to that ocean where a tiny boat was moored The lady-sniper finished her morning poop and tv shows, and got into position on the floor. She inserted her weapon into a hole, and noticed some more idiots attempting to accomplish something in the courtyard far below, so it was funny to accuse them with ascerbic wit of failing to hide behind a wall.
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