She lay quietly in the grasses gazing down malevolently at her nemesis. Months of preparation and gruesome experimentation was to come to fruition today. Countless Fallen Vandals and Captain captured, executed, and dissected. It took time and repetition for her to find the angle and placement for this one shot. She remember that day vividly. The day her best friend and companion Milton had died at the hands of General Praxix. She remembered her frustration when all three rounds from her Golden Gun Bethesda passed through his head with seemingly no effect. She swore that day she would find a way to kill him. Her Ghost, for the first few weeks of her obsession, had attempted to be a voice of reason. Urging her to seek assistance from other guardians. Vengeance was to be hers and hers alone. Eventually Dinklebot gave up, and began assisting her in the quest for the perfect shot. It turns out that the brains of the Fallen change over time. Becoming spongy and resilient as they grow older. The round from a Golden Gun traversing through the Praxix's head was too swift and well stabilized to cause any real or lasting damage. To kill him alone she would need to find a way to slow the bullet and force it to tumble. Eventually she and her Ghost perfected this unique and devastating technique. So here she lay, waiting silently for Praxix to turn just the right way. Her shot breaks the calm. Praxix falls and chaos explodes in the camp below. Her shot had struck him perfectly. Ricocheting off the lowest rib, grazing the bottom of his black heart forcing the bullet to turn further upward. Ricocheting again off the bone structure of his lowest set of arms. Then viciously tumbling up through his esophagus through the soft palate most of velocity spent on bones. Before finally bouncing around in his skull. Her vengeance was finally complete. The next time she saw Milton in her dreams she could tell him Praxix was dead.