Hell's Sniper | J. Todd

I - Look What You Made Me Do

I don't like your perfect crime,
How you laugh when you lie
- Taylor Swift

My dogs sort of just... appeared one day. I didn't actually adopt them or anything. One morning while I was still working as a patrol officer, I walked outside my bedroom to find six Doberman puppies. 

Every time I tried to give them away, they would just reappear in my apartment. I don't know how. I also don't know how they started talking with me telepathically, but that's not important.

Eventually I decided to accept the fact I had six Doberman puppies. They're not the worst, actually; they're fairly goofy dogs. It's just hard to explain to my co-workers whenever they ask about them.

They also take a very long time to feed. So long, that I'm almost late to work.

"Humans." Ruby, one of my dogs, says telepathically.

"I was feeding you, that's why I'm late." I quickly put my shoes on and ignore the six huffs of annoyance as my dogs walk off. My Australian accent is thick. I'm half Australian, half French. I moved to Gotham when I was thirteen. "If you didn't need so much food, I wouldn't be in such a rush."

I grab my car keys and run down the hallway after locking my apartment door. The elevator is broken so I run down five flights of stairs to get to my car, a Hyundai Palisade with a few too many dents in it (I blame my precinct's car park, not my shitty parking skills), and drive out into the Gotham streets. 

The same Gotham streets that are packed with barely-functioning cars, causing the type of traffic in certain areas where you sit on your phone and watch YouTube and only look up to move forward a half-inch.

"Oh, goodie." Corvus, another one of my Dobermans, interrupts. I look up from my video about pandas even though I know he's not here. "Does this mean you can turn around and arrest the man who broke in to our neighbours apartment?"

It's barely 10:30am.

I drop my head onto the steering wheel in frustration, cursing and jumping up at the loud beep, causing me to hit my head on the back of my seat.

It's going to be one of those days, isn't it?

If only I knew.

***

"You're late." Sgt. Collins doesn't like me very much. The feeling's mutual. "Why?"

I shift uncomfortably in my chair. Debriefs make me nervous for many reasons. I hate sitting still without a sniper in my hands. It's like being possessed. I just can't do it.

"One word; traffic. I can spell it out for you, if you'd like?" he only sighs in reply, "T-R-A-double F-I-"

"That's more than enough, thanks," he snaps. The others snicker. I scowl as he returns to his presentation slowly. Collins didn't get much sleep last night, which is evident. We call the debrief "Debate Time" because he and I are always talking shit to one another.

It's not my fault we don't like each other; we used to serve together in the Army on my first year there. He was my NCO and he made me mop puddles of water in the parking lot while it rained every time droplets fell from the sky.

Detectives got the warrant for the arrest of one Toby Longford, a killer who'd taken five lives in the past month. Since we think he's working with at least one other person, they gave SWAT the responsibility of arresting him.

So we gear up and get in the car. There's 12 of us; two up front, ten in the back, plus the gear. It's not a comfy fit. There's two other SWAT teams; we divide the day up into three eight-hour shifts for each team. It's not that uncommon that our shifts bump up to 12 hours due to another team going through mandatory training, or it being a weekend or holiday. There's a cycle for that. Two teams work for a day while one gets to rest.