You'd been working for the Commission for several years now, and you quite enjoyed it. Not for any logical reason, like the virtue behind setting the timeline correctly, no, you liked it because of the murder it involved.

Mindless killing after mindless killing, and you got drunk off of it, practically. Flirting with death whenever you felt like it, shooting people in the head and the heart and other body parts which would leave them dead on the floor.

You didn't care much about being the best, you already knew who earned that title, but you were named the most ruthless. People avoided you in the halls, and you relished it. Relished being feared as much as you were. Relished no longer being helpless to do anything but watch how things played out.

Today, you had begun a mission with the one and only Five Hargreeves, the golden boy of the Commission. You didn't care much for him and his uptight attitude, snarky comments, and always pristine suit and tie. But you'd tolerate him, since you had to.

They era you'd been assigned to was the early 1940s, midway through World War ll. You were assigned to eliminate some general or another, you didn't care, and a few of his lackeys. But of course, you had to get there first. Since walking through a war-zone wasn't awfully wise, you two were given a car that matched the era and ordered to skirt around the borders of a major battle to get to the general's chosen HQ.

"Are we there yet?" you asked Five for what was probably the fiftieth time, your leg bouncing up and down in the seat as you clicked the safety on and off on your gun excitedly.

"No. Jesus Christ, for the hundredth time. I swear to God you have absolutely no patience." he huffed in reply, from where he was driving. You'd wanted to drive, but he'd hopped into the front seat first, and hadn't cared when you threatened him. Asshole.