Chapter Text
When she was 10, her mother married a business man. He never took a liking to Violet, but he would acknowledge her. Violet and her mum were so happy together, playing and spending days together.
One day when she was 14, Violet became curious about what her step-father does for work, so she snuck into his office and discovered papers that had details on money laundering, reports on targets being killed and a map detailing heists and targeted locations. She took this to her mother, who then was about to phone the police, when the father came home. He surprised them with a holiday far away, but saw the papers on the table. Violets mother confronted him about it, and he said she never should’ve found them, with a smile on his face.
He killed her, one bullet to the head.
Violet stood there, shocked and tears streaming down her face. Her step-father told her that there people looking for him, a price on his head, and this holiday would ensure his getaway, but now that she knew, he had to kill her.
That is, until a car pulled up to the house. It was likely the hunters, so Violet took advantage of this and threw a lamp at him, and ran out the back door. She ran far away and never stopped.
Alone in the city, she was afraid, and didn’t stop thinking about her mother. How her life drained from her eyes, her final breath escaping, how she looked at Violet one last time before leaving her alone. Violet knew she had no chance to survive alone, so she wandered up to a group of suspicious people and cried. She cried and cried. They sat her down , and she explained everything. She knew that any normal criminal would take advantage of her young age and mug her, or worse. But this group were different. They listened and helped her, they even taught her how to pick pocket, so she can scrape by. These random criminals gave her hope, that not every criminal was evil. However, she had to run. The muggers got caught up in a turf war. They knew they would die, so they gave Violet all their wallets, everything that they had, and told her to run far away, somewhere new. She watched in horror as they were gunned down, bullets spraying them. She just narrowly escaped. With a bus ticket and a bag full of food and money, she left the city, and prayed for it all.
Los Santos. The city of crime, as they called it. It was not strange to hear sirens blaring everywhere, but no one was bothered by them, no one cared. It was noisy on the ground, people shoving her, clamouring, fighting, she hated the chaos. So what better place to hide than the rooftops? Climbing up fire escapes and hopping between roofs, she felt free, she could feel the wind flowing in her short hair. It was amazing. Los Santos helped her. It helped her to improve her skills. She could pick easy locks, she learned to trust certain people, she even learned how to fire a gun, thanks to a dealer.
But the money she was given wouldn’t be enough. She found a safe place to stay and set up camp, abandoned warehouses that no one bothered to look in, underneath bridges away from the city. She went to different small places, cafes, coffee shops, corner stores. But without any resumes or something to prove her identity, she felt hopeless. Until she was offered a place at a small diner, to clean up floors and tables. The owner told her that in this city it’s you either start early and pray, or fail and die. It was out of sympathy, he knew that children in this city were vulnerable, especially alone. Eventually she trusted him enough to tell him everything. She was sure he would call the cops or fire her. But surprisingly, he increased her pay and told her criminals stick together. Turns out he was secretly dealing drugs, but that was a secret between them.
At this point she was still bouncing around rooftops, no secure place to call home. He solved it. He gave her a fake passport that increased her age by a few years, so by law she was 19, but in reality she was 16. With this, and a small gift from the kind owner, she was able to rent her own apartment. It was small but felt spacious. Bare walls and a wooden floor, it was a start. This man was her friend, he told her the opportunities in the city to make money illegally. She never really thought about being a criminal, but to be fair she was a thief, accomplice, and a Fake person all in one, so why not. Besides, if it weren’t for whoever was coming to kill her step-father, she would never have escaped and come here. He gave her a list of options, some more questionable than others. Mugging seemed too simple with little payment, and money laundering seemed to complicated.
She could be a mercenary, killing for those who paid the most, or a hitman, killing specific criminals. None of these worked for her, until one caught her eye. Something that wouldn’t require her taking sides, or killing criminals which she wanted to be.
Bounty hunter.
The words sat on the list. They looked bold yet they weren’t. Killing targets for lots of money without having to know the crimes that they did. It looked easy, and for a good pay. She made her choice. Now how was she going to accomplish it? How did she want to kill these targets. Go in guns blazing, or take a more stealthy approach? She didn’t like the idea of facing her targets, seeing the wrath in their eyes. She’d rather be at a distance, so sniper rifle it was. She told her friend her choice, and he gave her a small note, scribbled with a name and a location, and a suitcase. He said this would be enough to get the essentials, a gun and what ever she fancied. She promised she would visit him, telling him her stories.
After reaching underneath the bridge, she handed the suitcase to the dealer and looked at her options. Assault rifles, SMG’s, combat knives and pistols. The cold steel of the sniper rifle stared back at her, so she picked it up. Even the dealer was impressed with how good quality it was. This was her choice, along with a handgun, a knife, casings and enough ammo. Walking back to her apartment, she had everything ready to start. Her path, her weapons of choice, and her wits.
Her very first bounty actually came from her friend, who wished to get vengeance on a man who had threatened him not too long ago. She scoped out his home. His routines and day to day businesses.
He was definitely a criminal.
She tracked him to a warehouse just outside of town, where he had people emptying out a truck full of crates, filled to the brim with bags of different drugs. The description her friend gave her matched what she saw. She waited for him to arrive to his house, just on cue. No one else was there so it was perfect. She steadied her breath and relaxed her muscles, finger on the trigger. This was it. This was her first step towards being a hunter, a criminal, someone who belonged. With her target in sight she pulled. The shot ricocheted off the air and whipped around her. The recoil was too strong and she felt herself almost get pushed back, the noise deafening. Quickly regaining her sense, she looked through the scope and looked back again, repeating the sight in her eyes.
His body was flat on the concrete ground, blood spilling from his head, seeping into the ground. She did it. She took out her first bounty. An electrifying feel crackled through her, a smile curling upon her face. This felt good. Knowing what she had done made her friend feel safe. Of course, future clients wouldn’t know Violet, but she still felt victorious, knowing what she had done had benefited someone else. After snapping a picture of the scene, she tucked away the rifle into its case into her duffle bag, she made her way back to the city, and climbed the first fire escape she saw.
She pulled out her phone and sent the photo to her friend, who replied with a party hat emoji and screenshots of the payment. She couldn’t wait till she received more clients.
Then she realised something. What if someone saw her, or found her while she was hunting? The simple hood of a hoodie wasn’t enough, she needed something more. A mask of some sort.
She spent the whole day sifting through mask shops and thrift stores, looking for a cover. Clown masks seemed too funny, animal masks weren’t scary, and she refused to wear a paper bag. Just as she thought of sticking with a ski mask, there it was, hanging behind the counter. A jet black wooden-like skull with indents of eyes and teeth. It was perfect with 2 very small holes to look out of, good enough for her. At home, she figured out how she would appear. Black trainers with some skinny black jeans, a black shirt with wolves on it covered by her favourite black hoodie, and the mask covering her face. She decided to put on the hood too, so her black and purple hair was covered. She had gotten purple highlights in her hair a few weeks ago, since black hair seemed boring. The outfit was spot on. It camouflaged her with the night sky, which was her favourite time of day. She felt invisible. Well, almost.
Did she really want clients to know her real name? She needed an alias or work name. Something that represented her. She felt like a hero, taking out people who were threats to others. She felt like a guardian angel, someone who could save people who believed in her. But angels didn’t use guns. How about a more dangerous angel? She looked up different angels, and the one that caught her eye was Archangel. An angel of higher ranking. She could define that ranking as taking more direct action. “Archangel”.
She liked it and it stuck