[ CW ] `` I 've shot Kennedy 100 times so far . In fact , I 've become quite good at it . ''

It was a pleasure to serve. 
 
 As was the motto of most of the members of the United Time Preservation Society, or UTPS. Our organization was responsible for the preservation and correction of various moments in history, in order to ensure the best possible outcome for humanity. Well, that's how it began. 
 
 My chapter was assigned to the 20th century. The primo assignment for any aspiring Fixer. That's what we called ourselves, Fixers. It had a nice ring to it, ya know? Made us feel needed, necessary. Maintaining the 20th century was no small task, a plethora of events and anomalies kept us busy all hours of the day. Since there were only five of us, we were each assigned twenty year periods we were responsible for. 
 
 1960-1980... What did I do to deserve that. 
 
 Not only is it the most time consuming ( haha ) it is the most mentally taxing. The boy who maintains WWII has an easy job, all he really has to do is make sure *someone* drops the bomb. It all works out the same way. 
 
 My high value tasks are as follows: 
 -Malcolm X 
 -Vietnam ( As a whole ) 
 -March on Washington 
 -Killing Elvis 
 -Moon Landing ( Making sure it actually happens and is n't a movie set like it was the first time ) 
 
 And the biggest, most necessary pain in my ass - Kennedy 
 
 I've shot that man over 100 times, Ive gotten quite good at it. My routine has n't really changed since the first few trips, so that means it must work. Any timeline in which he lives ends in disaster, Vietnam, MLK, The Cold War. They all end up causing more trouble than they're worth. If that man dies it maintains the controlled chaos. 
 
 This time it was different. I do n't know why but as soon as I materialized I felt it in the air. Maybe it was a breeze I never felt before or an extra cloud in the sky. All I knew was that I had to be careful. 
 
 I kept my routine. Same window, same bullet, same rifle, same everything. But as I know now, a man of routine is a dead man indeed. 
 
 I took the same breath I've taken every time before. 
 
 `` 136'' I whisper to myself as his motorcade rolls into view. 
 
 When you live the same moment that many times you notice the most minute differences. 
 
 A small boy carrying a blue ballon caught my eye. I could name every individual in that crowd, but never before have I seen that child. I heard the creak of boots on wood behind me and swung around only to find the one thing I feared in this world. 
 
 Myself. 
 
 I took a step toward my clone and looked into his steel blue eyes. *My* *blue* *eyes. * He took out a knife and before I could react the blade was buried in my gut. The blood soaking my coat, he stares at me and says a single word before tossing me a notebook. 
 
 `` Confess'' 
 
 This is my story, this is my final testament and word. I leave this world lost in time. I leave this world a failure, sabotaged by my own visage. If there is a God, I hope he finds it in his heart to understand. I was the necessary evil. I was a Fixer 
 
 
 

