I must admit that this was not an assignment I wished to take once I was apprised of the details. Apart from the disrespect it showed for my calling, it also rather failed to fulfill one of my prime requirements - giving Mrs. Doran opportunity to use her myriad skills. I'm not just in this for the sheer artistry and mayhem, I do it for my love. To watch her work is a thing of beauty that would make the angels weep.
The client didn't want someone subjugated, repudiated, recalibrated, or eliminated. No, he wished me to alter reality to make him... happy. Even though I possess neither the requisite wings nor a magic wand, this person had somehow mistaken me for his fairy godmother!
I contemplated eliminating the impudent manchild. Even though I would have then been forced to remesh future causality on my own dime, it would have been worth it. However my sweetie convinced me to stay my hand and change my mind. Mrs. Doran thought it a job that would stretch me in ways both unique and challenging. At my reluctance to take a contract that, on the surface, would allow her no opportunity to slake her bloodlust, she made me promise to purchase her a planet with lots of mega-fauna and/or dinosaurs.
So I've now chrono-grabbed a splinter of the client and shunted the grab into a temporal bubble, sent approximately four thousand nonillion nano probes and camera recorders to track his life from three days pre-conception to a week post quietus, dispatched another thousand quintillion recorders to track his causal interaction web to the seventh power, set up the time screens on my amaranthine, and started my computer booting up.
It's going to be a long day, subjectively and objectively.
Better get on with it, have to put the washing out first.
© Danny Oz