[ WP ] You are time police . It 's your job to make sure history does n't change . Your new assignment is to protect Hitler until the end of the war . You have full use of your future tech to complete the mission . Assassin 's from your time line are coming back to kill Hitler early .

The ones who have n't put much thought into it are the easiest. 
 
 They 3D print a time machine, throw on military surplus energy armor, grab a cheapo lasrifle, and figure they can waltz right up to Hitler and turn him into a puff of steam. 
 
 They have n't done their research. They do n't know I exist. 
 
 When these weekend warrior types port in, my scanner picks up their imprint well before they timesynch. It's a matter of phasing to their location, waiting for them to corporealize, and bouncing them home. 
 
 I send the details to my superiors, and the weekend warriors are in cuffs before they're even aware they've failed their fun little mission. 
 
 Then there's the hobbyists. 
 
 These people, I've got no doubt, hang out in chat rooms online swapping tips and stories. 
 
 They know what my job is, and they've got some idea of what I'm capable of. 
 
 Their time machines are custom. They scramble their time imprints. They often timesynch before I'm even aware they're incoming. 
 
 But their gear is n't top of the line. If anything, their set-ups are awkward, the sort of thing that sounds impressive when they type it out in a chatbox, and looks imposing when they snap pics in their backyards, but that turns them into fumbling, lumbering klutzes when they go toe-to-toe with me. 
 
 Think multiple grenade launchers. Think lasknives strapped to their wrists. Think nightvision worn during the day. 
 
 Their awkwardness is their saving grace. It means I can get up close and bounce them without getting hostile. 
 
 They do occasionally get within sight of Hitler, though, and when they're lugging around an arsenal, that means I've got no choice but to shoot first and bounce later. 
 
 That's what my darts are for. 
 
 One last thing I'll say about the hobbyists is that they all seem to think it's clever to go for Hitler in his crib. 
 
 So many of them came down while Mama Hitler was pushing little Adolf out that I had to mine the street around the building and spend the next few weeks ReMembering the people in the neighbourhood. 
 
 The most dangerous are the paramilitary assassins. 
 
 These individuals, as far as I can tell, are contracted by governments or wealthy organizations. They come well-trained and well-armed. 
 
 In dealing with them, I empty my arsenal. 
 
 Knife fights. Sniper battles. Teleportation duels. Invisible hunts. 
 
 I've had these highly charged encounters perhaps a dozen times on Hitler's behalf, and while I've never lost, there have been close calls. 
 
 Some of them have had weaponry more advanced than my own. They come from decades into my own future. Fortunately though, the tech gap is never massive. 
 
 People after the year 2300 must lose interest in Hitler. 
 
 I'm not sure why. 
 
 Maybe, after I complete my mission, after I return to my timeline, collect my bounty, and have a family, after a couple of decades of the good life, I'll witness World War 4. Who knows. 
 
 My mission brief states that I'm to protect Hitler's timeline. In the early days, it was clear to me that that meant protecting him from those future travelers who would do him harm. But I've been with him so long, now, that it's got a little strange. 
 
 I've sutured Hitler's stab wounds. I've taken las shots for him. I've made him vomit up poisoned food. 
 
 On a more personal level, I've used my reactive camo to take on the guise of his various friends and recommended he, say, pursue painting. Later, I recommended he let painting go. At certain key moments, I've reminded him that his first art teacher, the one who said he'd never amount to much, was Jewish. 
 
 And more than any of that, while he's been in recovery from injuries, I've mimicked his voice and given the orders that I know he gave, historically. 
 
 And so now, while I wait with him and Eva in the Fuhrerbunker and the time is ticking away and neither of them is talking about ending it, I know that this, too, is my job. 
 
 I know where Eva keeps her cyanide capsule. I know where Hitler keeps his gun.
