Who: Sarah Miller and JJ. Sort of. Where: New York, New York. When: 3rd March, 2010. After the assassinations. Warnings: Assassination, language, and bad writing due to tiredness.
Sarah had never killed anyone before, and neither had Steph. Sure, she had memories of standing there bloody and broken and barely keeping it together with a gun in her hands and pointing it at Black Mask, she knew what it was like to be shot too. The feeling of the bullet ripping through skin, flesh and bone. She wasn’t comfortable with the thought of doing that to another human being. It was a good thing she didn’t think of JJ as a person or she might’ve had real trouble with the idea.
Steph hated what they were doing, and Sarah could feel the waves of displeasure rolling from the part of her that was still Steph and would always be that separate person. Sarah was biting back the urge to apologise to her former self, to try to explain that this wasn’t Gotham and argue that it was no different from that self defence mechanism to pick up the gun in the first place.
It was different though. This was (almost) cold blooded murder, planned and executed from a distance. The reasons were valid, but there was no way to sell this as being anything other than what it was. It was an execution, and that made her the judge, jury and the executioner.
Fan-fucking-tastic.
This wasn’t what she was supposed to be, or who she was supposed to become, but sometimes people were just forced into impossible situations, or were forced to act. She could remember the sight and smell of her parents bodies, and that was the one thing she clung to in order to see this through. She had killed them, and she’d made them suffer first. No one could survive a beating like that and Sarah knew it had to hurt, that her parents had hurt before the end. She knew what that was like too, and it made her sure that this was the right thing to do.
She looked through the scope attached to the sniper riffle, and the second JJ walked across her line of sight she squeezed the trigger. A pop. And the white make up that JJ was fond of was nothing more than a bloody mess on the sidewalk.
Sarah waited, holding her breath, and when JJ didn’t get up. When she didn’t move, cry out, flinch, beg or breath. Sarah pulled out her Camelot issue phone and hit the app to call Camelot HQ.
“I’m gonna need a clean up crew on 8th and 52nd. JJ’s dead.”
There might be congratulations, high fives, or the JL might grow a fucking conscience and hate her for what she’d just done. Sarah just couldn’t bring herself to give a fuck. She’d made her decision and they’d all just have to live with it. Sometimes people just had to act. If they expected her to act any differently from how she just had then they obviously hadn’t been paying attention to her over the last few months.
She packed away the riffle, taking it apart and putting it back into the bag and she waited until Camelot was cleaning up the body and dealing with the cops before she slipped away into the night like the slightly homicidal Bat she was.