[ WP ] In the near future , we 've cured most diseases and attained near-immortality . In order to control the population , euthanasia is required at age 100 .

My name is Fiir, pronounced, unfortunately, exactly like `` fear.'' Agent Todd Fiir. I'm the Federal Euthanasia Location and Administration Specialist for Sector 17. I'm good at my job. Actually, I'm great at my job. 
 
 I've been great at my job for 117 years, and that's recently become an issue with my employer. You see, when somebody hits 100, they're to report to their local Recycling Center for euthanasia and disposal. I find those who do n't show up, and I administer on site euthanasia... some of the time. Mostly, what I do is n't *technically* euthanasia, but either way, there's one more dead 100 year old for the Recycling Center. I've been at my job for so long that `` Agent Fear'' has become an urban legend. 
 
 I am 198, now, and I obviously have n't turned myself in. I had two children when I was 46. Twins. They both lived their lives, and turned themselves in on their 100th birthday. It's been 52 years since my children's Recycling. Everyone that I have ever loved has been recycled. I was never recycled, though. I never turned myself in, and I obviously was n't going to hunt myself down. Nobody had ever noticed. I had thought that I was in the clear, but I suppose that somebody had connected the dots about a hundred year old story relating directly to a living man. Judging by the three ELAS agents outside, I'm thinking that somebody is very unhappy about it. 
 
 `` 17. This is 72. You have existed far past your recycling date. This is treason. You have stolen 92 years from the government. Please exit with your hands raised above your head and prepare for euthanasia.'' As 72 spoke, I clamped pieces of my black metal armor to my body, locking my torso, arms, and legs firmly into my reactive armor. The number 17 was outlined in red on my right pectoral, with a small `` Fiir'' etched underneath. I took my rifle in my hands, and locked it into place on the back of my armor. I removed the helmet from the mannequin head, and held it to my hip while closing and locking the locker. 
 
 `` 17, you have one minute to comply.'' 72 barked again. 
 
 After about twenty seconds of deep breathing, I slid my black helmet onto my head and activated its intercom. 
 
 `` Agent Gregory. You've got Johnson and Martinez with you, just for me?'' I asked while scanning the three through my one way window. 
 
 `` It's 72, 11, and 44. You're a criminal, Fiir. I've known you for thirty years, and they were *all* stolen. Come outside with your hands raised, and prepare to receive euthanasia.'' 
 
 I sighed, pulling my rifle again from my back. I flipped off my intercom, held the gun to my shoulder, and said `` armor piercing.'' The gun lit up blue, and I fired three bullets into 72's chest while rolling through the doorway on my left, and into my kitchen. Immediately, a storm of bullets destroyed my living room. Over my headset I heard 11 - otherwise known as agent Angela Johnson - say `` 72 killed in action. Body for recycling.'' Footsteps stepping over broken glass could be heard at the same time that another set of feet were kicking in my door. Johnson continued `` Perpetrator Todd Fiir is still on the loose. In pursuit.'' 
 
 I crawled over to the window in the kitchen, and laid my back against it while sitting towards the door way to my living room. The window was incredibly expensive when I had purchased it, because the window was the entire wall of my kitchen. Fifteen stories up, the view was incredible. I did n't have time to enjoy it at the moment, though. I hoisted my gun again to my shoulder and said `` smoke.'' I fired two shots into the living room just as 11 appeared in the middle of it, and one smoke shot lodged itself directly in her visor. She shouted `` scattershot'' as she spun and opened fire in my direction. The window immediately shattered, and I fell backwards, landing one story lower on an adjacent balcony. I let out a shout of pain as I stood and began kicking at the door to enter the next apartment. More scattershot peppered the balcony as I rolled into the apartment. 
 
 The bedroom that I had entered was empty, and I quickly proceeded through the apartment, but stopped at the front door. I had a strange feeling and whispered `` scattershot'' to my rifle as I put it's muzzle against the door. I pulled the trigger three times before stepping back and swinging the door open. 44 - Agent Miguel Martinez - sat against the wall on the opposite side of the hallway, his midsection torn to pieces by my scattershot. He weakly lifted his helmet off, and it rolled out of his hand and down the hallway. 
 
 `` W... why?'' he choked out, through his pain. 
 
 `` 44, we see death every day. We bring death. The women that I've loved, the two children that I raised, my entire family, they've all been recycled. Some by agents just like us. But you know as well as I do that the good, no, the *great* Agents never die. It's not just a rumor. How old is 11, if you had to guess? 156? 157? I've been at this for much longer than any of you, and, obviously, I'll be at it much longer than any of you.'' I turned my attention to the smaller tool on my belt, a small grey cylinder that could easily be confused for a pen. I set one flat end against 44's temple, and whispered `` Authorize Euthanasia, Agent 17 code BLK898.'' The cylinder lit up like a rainbow as a microscopic needle shot into 44's head, and he slumped over, dead. 
 
 I immediately set off toward the stairwell, again lifting my rifle and stating `` incendiary.'' I opened the door to the stairwell and began to run down the steps as fast as I possibly could. On the third floor, the stairwell access door flung itself open and contacted my helmet quite hard. I stumbled backwards and lost grip of my rifle. Johnson stepped into the stairwell from behind the door, and used her foot to send my rifle flipping down the stairs. She had removed her helmet, probably due to the smoke shot lodged in her visor. She was quite beautiful, really. Her physical aging had stopped, just like the rest of us, at 22. One of her eyes was a deep sea blue rimmed by black and the other was an emerald green enclosed in the same black ring. He blonde hair was pulled back into a pony tail, emphasizing the shape of her face and her tiny nose. I laughed a little bit as I admired her. 
 
 `` Oh, 17, it's you. Is 44 dead?'' She asked. 
 
 `` Both physically with scattershot and mentally with the Euth. He's a goner. The last one that knew anything about our little situation.'' I brushed myself off as I stood, smiling and removing my helmet. `` Sorry about the smoke shot in the visor, though. Two inches lower and that could've been a *very* serious issue. And way to remember the scattershot for the window bust. You were really on the ball today.'' 
 
 Angela smiled at me. `` Thanks, you did n't do too badly yourself. Besides discovering my age in the first place and letting the `` Agent Fear'' stories spread for so long, you did n't make a single mistake.'' 
 
 `` I do n't think that discovering your real age was a mistake, really. I mean, 72 had mostly figured out *your* age, and I eliminated him. 44 connected the dots and reported *me*, and he's very dead. I'd guess that we're in the clear. Nobody else knows, and we could n't have done it without each other.'' I began walking down the stairs towards my rifle, and a loud bang echoed through the stairwell. My vision flashed, and I found myself lying on my back next to my rifle at the bottom of the steps. Johnson had her foot planted on my chest, and reached down to pull off my helmet. 
 
 `` It *was* a mistake, 17. You should have just kept to your own affairs, because now you're a liability. It's a shame, really, because I like you quite a bit. Oh, well. So, your choice. I can either liquefy your brain with the Euth tool or blast it out against the concrete. Which would you prefer?'' 
 
 A warm wetness was setting in around my chest, and I looked down to see my chest torn open by an armor piercing bullet. I dropped my head to the left, and the only thing that I could see was my rifle, and Johnson put pressure on my chest with her foot, shooting tendrils of pain through my entire body. 
 
 _____ 
 
 17 groaned as I pushed my foot down into his chest, moaning something quietly. It was disgusting to see somebody so strong had become this meek, pitiful creature so quickly. I wanted to just finish him off and move on as quickly as I could. 
 
 `` What'll it be, 17? Choose now, before I choose for you.'' 
 
 He croaked something weakly, and I smacked him in the skull with the butt of my rifle. I laughed, and shouted `` LOUDER.'' 
 
 He began again, this time with quite a bit more volume and strength, `` Capture Protocol Zyr66.'' He smiled as his rifle began to flash a bright red and beep loudly, faster and faster. I immediately turned to run back up the stairs, but the gun exploded. 
 
 
 
 _______ 
 
 END OF STORY, THESE ARE MY NOTES NOW. 
 
 Holy shit that became really really really long. I had a *ton* of fun writing that for some reason. Let me know what you think about it, please. 
 

