In a world where the ultrawealthy can live forever, an assassin takes a job outside his regular line of work.

My job, when you think about it, isn’t so different from a lot of people’s. The more old-fashioned crowd do still get hung up on the "killing people" part of it, I guess, but that’s a them problem: it’s been perfectly legal to take out lifers for ages. Besides, once ultrawealthy morons realised they had a way to live forever—limited resources be damned—there was only ever going to be one genuinely practical deterrent. So, sure, I have to deal with a ton of boring planning. Inconvenient hours. Some pretty awkward face-to-face interactions. And like most of us, I’m really only clocking in to try to crawl out from beneath my debts. But someone’s got to do it. Luckily, my genetic compatibilities make me really, really good at doing it. Still. This next job...I don’t know. It’s something I haven’t had to deal with in years. Kind of the opposite of my regular duties. Strange, that it got thrown my way. I’m sure it’ll all go totally fine though.