(Y/n) dropped her bag to the floor. Her car keys thrown onto the small table. And her large coat draped over the chair that sat next to the door, before she made her way over to the sofa and slumped down onto it. The detective placing the files on the coffee table in front of her, and taking off her shoes, before placing her feet next to the case notes.
This was not necessarily what she had had planned for her life. Her own little slice of boring, dull, and beige domesticity. But it was better than what she had grown up with. Better than the orphanage. Better than the room that she would be locked in whenever she would speak out of turn. Whenever she would do anything that the people that were supposed to be caring for her and the other children in the home, didn't like. Which was most of the time. The room that she would always escape from so that she could run off to spend time with Victor and his grandmother. Her life with the pair the only happiness that she had ever known. Well, until Victor had shot her, that was.
Even after all these years she had never been able to work out why he had done it. She had been of no importance to anyone. She was a nothing. Unwanted and unloved. For the most part, no one even knew that she existed. But he had done it. Calmly and coldly, he had pointed the gun at her and pulled the trigger. Calmly and coldly, he had left her there in a pool of blood. Barely clinging to the last strand of life. (Y/n) finally having to presume that he had done it because he could. Did it so that he could prove to her and himself that he was the best. That he could happily kill someone whom he had told he loved. Someone that had told him that she loved him. Could kill her as easily as he could kill anyone else. Yet the only thing that the highly feared assassin had not expected, had not planned on that day, was that she would survive. That she would come back from the grave. A ghost that would soon haunt his very existence.
In her weaker moments, she had wondered what her life would be like if she and Victor had been together, as he had promised. Whether her world would be more exciting than her minimalist apartment. Whether she would have been happy. But they were the moments that were very few and far between now. Her time in the hospital after the shot had been a turning moment for her. The time when her heart had turned to stone. When she had become as cold and unfeeling as Victor. When she had formulated her plan for revenge. When she had decided on her path.
Getting up from the sofa, (Y/n) made her way into the kitchen, opening the refrigerator and grabbing the bottle of wine that already had had a glass worth taken out of it. The detective reaching for a cup from the draining board and slopping some of the liquid into it. It was a strange position that she was in. For years she had been putting criminals away. She had been fighting the bad guys. And she had even grown to like and respect some of the people that she worked with. Captain Essen, Harvey, Jim and Ed in particular. But now, now she had stepped over the thin blue line that separated the good from the bad. Right from wrong. If there really was that line when it came to Gotham. And if she listened to Jim and Harvey, then she would say that it didn't. Now, her feet were firmly planted on the wrong side of the law. Or at least they had been those eight times. The blood of eight men staining her hands. But they were all just means to an end.
It was true that (Y/n) had not really known the men that she had killed. They were all small time criminals that barely made a blip on the radar. The only reason that they were dead, was that she had received information that Victor was to be sent for them. That the assassin was to be paid for taking the men out for one reason or another. That the men had upset people that they shouldn't. So, she had got there first. In and out without being seen. Placing a single bullet to each man's forehead before disappearing. Leaving nothing but a corpse for Victor to find. (Y/n) sure that her antics were beginning to annoy the assassin. Were making him begin to wonder who was out there would be daring enough to make him look like a rank amateur.
Even in her youth she had always been careful. Circumspect. She had never rushed into any situation. She was a planner. Down to the very last detail. And so, it was now. She had used her position in the GCPD to help her get intel on places and people. Made friends with security guards so that she could find out about cameras and alarms. Got to know the local homeless. Even men under the employ of the big crime bosses would come to see her. (Y/n) knowing the best way to get these men to owe her favours. To get them to see that with just one word from her, they could either end up in prison for a very long time or end up dead. Just another corpse in a city full of corpses. Another file sat on some cop's desk.
(Y/n) made her way into the bedroom. The detective sighing as she looked into the full length mirror that hung on the wall.
"You look like shit. Too many late nights and too much coffee. And this brake fluid doesn't help either." (Y/n) told her image in the mirror, as she took another drink of the wine from the cup.
"But when this is all over. When Victor is dead. We'll be off to some sun kissed beach somewhere. Far from dark, rainy, grim and grey Gotham. We'll be sipping on some frou-frou cocktail while the cabana boy rubs our feet. And as Victor rots in the ground, or whatever gutter I leave him in. We will finally be living the life we deserve." (Y/n) continued. Raising the cup to herself, before downing the rest of the contents and throwing the now empty cup onto the bed.
"Now, lets see who's next." The detective said, as she reached behind the mirror. Running her fingers up and down the edge until she found the latch that she wanted. A soft click barely audible, as she pulled in the mechanism. The mirror slowly swinging open to reveal a small, hidden room. A room that was filled with everything that she would need to bring Victor to his knees. A room that house all the information that she had on her previous victims, as well as those that could be the next to find themselves with an extra hole in their heads. A room that would be destroyed as soon as her work was done. Leaving Gotham PD with nothing but another unsolved case. Another series of murders, whose perpetrator would disappear as quickly as they had appeared. Whose final victim would be Victor Zsasz.