[ WP ] You are given a deal by a higher power that grants you eternal life . The catch ? You have to kill one person every year . If you fail do do so , even a minute too late , you will die .

The deal always seemed too good to be true - the Queen orders countless people dead every week, so one-a-year was going to bed a walk in the park. And it was. For over 50 years I roamed the country, passing prisons for easy targets. Keeping my youth was n't in the contract, but I guess it was a bonus for my... overachievements. It did mean that I could n't hold the same identity for too long, but I did n't mind - drifting was always part of the fun. 
 
 But then it started to change. The Royal family lost most of its power, and the government was now in charge - and those guys actually cared a bit for the folk. Suddenly moving between jobs was a hassle, not to mention that less subjects were being sent. I needed a new solution, and the upcoming war was just what I needed. 
 
 Siding with the Nazis was never something I was proud of, but I had to do it. I was n't prepared to live my eternal life as a shriveled old man, not to mention that with the burden of an aging body, murder becomes less than trivial. It was the easy way out, I admit, but I was n't looking for a challenge. 
 
 And then they lost, and I got my challenge. That young American officer, my last victim in Europe, was the perfect candidate for a fresh start. No family, no friends, no lovers and no jobs, and frankly I was keen on crossing the Atlantic already. 
 
 So there I was, a war veteran in a rising superpower, with centuries of experience in the place that values it the most. Unfortunately, as the years went by, law enforcements actually started to become viable investigators, and once again I needed an alternative - so it was a good thing I found *her*. 
 
 It's amazing how both of us detected the other. It was a crowded concert, and I just finished my monthly deed ( from past experience I found out that it was enough to keep my current body intact ). The moment I came out of the bathroom, leaving a bludgeoned mess for the janitor, I sensed her near. I felt like a dog picking up a scent - I just had to find the source, which was n't hard because apparently she felt the same. 
 
 It never occurred to either of us that the gift could be given to another. She got it much earlier than me, and I must admit she used it much better as well. Her Indian tribe believed her to be a goddess, showering her with luxury ( as luxurious as you can get in the Asian jungles ). Gifts, servants and celebrations were a given, but the best part were the sacrifices. Once a month, the strongest warriors of her tribes would go on a hunting trek, returning with a captured member of a neighboring tribe. The first one to return would get the honor of presenting her the tribute, which she would burn alive on top of a nearby volcano. 
 
 This tradition lasted until the British arrived, and she knew she had to escape. After her year was almost up, she came to America to cover up the tracks of her first `` true'' murder. She got by the following years by dispatching hitchhikers, but when we met we both knew that a different method was required. 
 
 The babies were actually her idea, and I admit I was reluctant at first - but it worked, and it left no trace. We were traveling, so no one knew us long enough to notice her constant pregnancy, and it did n't take long to learn how to give birth at home. We had all of the required equipment, not that we needed it - our gift meant that death from childbirth was out of the question, and her constantly young physique made sure that no damage was done. Once every 9 months we both pressed the syringe together to it would count for both of us. We still got old, we definitely felt it after years of standing in place, but it was slow enough for our love to eclipse it. We found the solution, and nothing was going to stop us. 
 
 That was how I felt until last year. Without warning, she just did n't wake up. Her contract expired. Perhaps her thumb was just on mine, and she did n't actually inject the poison. Maybe he finally got fed up with our loophole and decided to punish us. Whatever the reason, not only will I never know, but it wo n't matter - I wo n't have her back, and never will have anyone like her. My time is up in a few hours, and I still have n't decided whether to continue or not. It's a very strange feeling, having my own life on the line, after so many I've ended - although after all, it's still my choice. 
 
 The seconds are ticking, 500 to go. I can give myself a boost, that wo n't be hard. I quite like this world. I have been to most of the western world, but so much is still unexplored. They just made it to space, so there's that to look forward to, and the impending world war could give me another flow of clients. I could love again, and I still am young enough for it to matter. And with those thoughts in mind, the decision seems clear to me - I shall go on. The butcher knife is already in my hand, the hippie I picked up earlier tied to the bed in front of me, and the location is secluded enough for me to get away before anyone smells the body. With one quick strike I renew the cycle, or so I hoped. As I raised my hand, I felt a shiver much like the one in that concert. Only this time it was followed by that feeling of dread - the same one I had when I first met him, just before I got the gift. And in my last moments I knew that this time, I was too late.
