SARAH had two loving parents --- gunsmiths who immigrated to America to raise a store ( and eventually a child ) from the ground up together. She became increasingly involved in the trade as she grew, from doing the more mundane tasks her father was too busy to do to ultimately learning directly from her mother the ins and outs of firearms. They operated out of Los Angeles, and while her upbringing might not have always been ideal --- it was LA, and they were decidedly low-income --- it was still a good upbringing. She was happy. When she was ten, it was cruelly ripped out from under her.
He wore a bright red mask, but even young Sarah still knew his identity --- she recognized his voice as he berated her mother, taunted her father. He’d been in the shop mere months prior to see about getting custom firearms --- dual pistols with a few modifications --- and apparently wasn’t happy with the final price the morning before the attack. Her parents had both attempted to save her, not letting on that their daughter was nearby, but he’d caught sight of her bright red hair poking out from behind the glass counter. He made her father watch as he shot her twice in the chest; firemen were barely able to carry her to safety before the shop was set ablaze, and first responders were barely able to resuscitate her on the way to the hospital. Nonetheless, she survived and recovered --- remarkably quickly considering one of the bullets was still lodged in close proximity to her heart. Sarah was tossed between several care homes in the foster system, but none of them stuck; she was a disgruntled ward of the state, and preferred to spend her remaining eight years in the system tracking any whisper of her attacker’s whereabouts instead of settling for “replacement parents”.
It puzzled her for the longest time as to why her parents’ killer had never been apprehended and charged; she’d fingered him immediately once she was conscious, but it quickly lost steam --- deliberately left to grow cold, her testimony discredited. Eventually the pieces fell into place; she wasn’t sure of his real name, but he went by GP and a slew of other names. He was filthy rich, downright cruel, and virtually untouchable where the law was concerned --- particularly in LA, where pockets were notoriously lined with cash. If she couldn’t hit him hard in the orthodox way... She’d hit him low and fast; using her firearm experience and sharp wit to her advantage, Sarah was quick to dive into the criminal underground as soon as she was eighteen and off the government’s radar. She remains a gun-for-hire, a woman of all trades --- whether it’s to lure a cocky corporate head into spilling his dirty little secrets, or beating the living shit out of the man that won’t stop stalking you. No job is too big or small, and over the course of the past seven years, Sarah’s detected a common thread among a large portion of her more high-profile business: GP. She’s carefully crafting her endgame, the results entirely dependent on the perfect job...
This verse is pretty flexible; it could take place in the present, or even as far back as the ‘70s. It could also apply to Ma.rvel, D///C, futuristic/scifi, and other similar universes.
She’s twenty-five, just like she is in Burning Tides.
She doesn’t operate exclusively out of LA, or even exclusively in the United States, as GP’s activity isn’t limited either. She has a passport, and thanks to the endless demand of a gun to solve one’s problems, she’s able to travel frequently. ( read: green light for per//son/a and similarly “overseas” settings )
Although her morality is even more grey than it is in her default timeline, she still has her own code. She’s more likely to take on personal jobs (ie, ‘someone’s stalking me’ or ‘I need help getting rid of my ab.usi.ve lover/spouse/ex’) and charges considerably less for them. She could always use more cash, but isn’t desperate; she’ll turn down whatever she feels like turning down.
She changes her surname frequently for the sake of staying off GP’s radar, but always maintains “Sarah”.
She is freelance, but has a large number of contacts --- clients and “associates” alike.
She still fucking hates oranges.
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