text: Thirty six minutes late for the debriefing when she casually strolled in and laid down on my sofa. She hadn’t bothered to take off her costume. I say costume, it was simply military tactical gear. Function over form was always her way. Straightforward, to the point, no messing around. I was hoping that in a less formal environment - such as my house - she would be more relaxed. It would make things easier. “Want a drink?” I asked, starting to head for the kitchen. She held up a full tumbler in response. If her position on the couch hadn’t changed, I wouldn’t have noticed she moved. Sara was extremely fast, and her superhero persona always made me forget that she uses her powers more playfully when off duty. She sipped at a gin and tonic, her favorite. Throughout our six year partnership, Sara would come over on her days off and we’d get drunk and forget our responsibilities. She was probably hoping tonight would be such a night. Days off are a thing for superheroes, once you come to terms with the fact that it’s impossible for one person - no matter how powerful - to save everybody, it just makes sense. The termination rate has dropped significantly ever since the Agency started its five day work week policy for heroes. Sometimes though, it was a necessity. “You know why you’re here today?” I asked. You had to be gentle when the person in front of you could tear you to pieces in the blink of an eye. “Yeah,” she said, taking a long sip. “Bad day.” “Bad day?” I almost started yelling, but caught myself before losing control. “He was a college kid. Innocent. How did it happen?” “Come on, man. How do you think it happened? The only people in that room were five gunmen and some dumbass kid that, what, stumbled in there? You tell me.” Sara looked at me defiantly, as if waiting for an explanation. In reality, there was no way she could have known that kid was in there, some idiot from the local university too stoned to realize what he just walked into. The chances she could have recognized the situation and stopped herself were slim to none. That wasn’t the point. The point was her reaction. This kind of thing, an innocent getting killed, used to be unacceptable for her. She would plan for hours, sometimes days for an operation like today’s, and would do her best to ensure nobody got hurt who didn’t deserve it. Sometimes, she would nearly get killed herself pulling it off. When it finally - inevitably - happened, it shook her to her core. That attitude is why everyone at the Agency loved her so much. But then - about a year ago I think - her husband found out who she was. Called her a murderer, an assassin - which technically was all true - and left her. I know he loved her, always would. Poor guy would’ve come crawling back in a day or two after he cooled off, but the Agency couldn’t allow for the breach. He was terminated that night, without my knowledge. This fact may be the only reason she never killed me. They made it look like an accident, nobody that mattered was fooled. Something clicked off in her after that. At first, I thought she’d just start drinking or maybe do something crazy like outright attacking the Agency headquarters. Instead, she just threw herself into the job, and not in a good way. She became cold and reckless. Civilian bodies started to pile up. As of tonight, she has racked up nine non combatant casualties. In our five years before her husband was terminated, her count was one. I shouldn’t have been surprised at the Agency’s reaction to my suggestion to terminate. It was quickly accepted, as always, but Sara was so loved in her time as a hero, more than most, maybe I just think she deserved better. “Are you going to say anything?” She was being aggressive now, my silence gnawed at her. “Do you even know what happened?” She sighed and finished her drink. “Can I go now?” “No,” I said bluntly. “We need to talk about this.” *I need confirmation of the kill*. “Please,” she spat, and got up to leave. “You going to have *me* terminated too?” Not responding was the worst thing I could’ve done. For all her newfound recklessness, Sara never became stupid. Her reaction wasn’t one of fear - it never is with any hero - but mockery. “What do you plan on doing, little guy?” she spat. “There’s no Agency goons here, I checked. I always check after James... So you think you can kill me? Try.” In the blink of an eye, she was right in front of me, but crumpled to the floor upon arrival. I breathed a sigh of relief. The poison was quick, and I was pretty sure that using her speed would accelerate it even further. Glad that worked out. Sara looked up at me with bulging eyes, deep red from bursting blood vessels. She heaved and clawed at her throat, tearing it open. It looked like she was trying to dig the poison out. “It was the gin, if that’s what you want to know.” I said. “I hate that garbage. Only kept it here for you.” When the spasms finally stopped, I packed my bag and left. I had to report in and be assigned a new apartment before I could meet my new partner.