KITTEN || five hargreeves

02

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Name/Alias: Kit "The Kitten" Woods
Age: 49
Sex: NB, F presenting
Birthplace: Dallas, Texas
Special abilities: N/A
Kills: 64
Attributes: excellent marksman, proficient knife-thrower, friendly, easy-going, self-proclaimed 'genius' (data is unable to confirm), self-proclaimed 'hella good baker' (data is unable to confirm), self-proclaimed 'there's another random box on here so if you're reading this say hi!' (data unable to confirm)
Time with the Commission: 1 year, 9 days, 3 hours, 40 minutes

What a fucking messy file, Five thought. He tossed it onto the ground next to him, rubbing his face with his worn, calloused hands. He was nearing 58, and he was starting to show it. But Kit. 49, huh? She looked 40. And with 64 kills on her belt- Five was fairly impressed. He was less impressed by her self-proclaimed attributes, but the expert marksman part did reel him in.

Plus her nickname was "The Kitten". You didn't get a nickname if you were a nobody.

The Commission celebrated individuals with excellent records by placing plaques on the wall with their nicknames. "The Hawk", "The Alien", and "The Yorkie" were Five's favorite. When you left the Commission, your name was wiped from the system, and instead your nickname would be remembered by others for all time.

Five wondered how Kit had gotten it, but he rolled his eyes when he pieced it together. Kit. Kitten. Simple.

Five squared his shoulders and crossed his arms. Stupid partners. Stupid Commission. Five had been alone for almost 2 years, and he thought that he could skate by the rest of his sentence the same.

He huffed and stood up from his seat, rubbing his face again to try to numb the headache. Today he- they- had to take out an ex-military who was planning to kill President Eisenhower. Just another day on the job.

They were headed to Cleveland, Ohio to catch him before he departed to Washington DC. Should be a quick in-and-out. All depending on the Kitten.

He neared the briefcase room and squared his shoulders one more time. No attachments, that was Five's motto. If they can't get near you, they can't hurt you.

He entered the room carefully, taking care to not make a sound. He failed in stealing the attention away from himself.

"Oh, you must be Five!" The woman from the photo beamed up at him from her spot on the ground, doing some manual work on a briefcase. She stuck out her hand and Five looked at it for a second before accepting, shaking it. Kit had a good grip.

"Kitten, huh? That doesn't sound that fierce."

Kit rolled her eyes and stood up, brushing her pants off. She wore the usual Commission-granted blue suit and tie, but her hair was a little too messy to be professional. Kit self-consciously patted her short red bob down, smoothing it out. Her worry lines were just starting to make creases on her face.

"They didn't give me a nickname for nothing," she replied, smirking up at him.

He looked down at her, gruffly shaking his head to clear it.

"Your pronouns?"

"She, her, they, it's all the same to me." She turned around to get back to the suitcase she was repairing, careful not to turn it on and send her flying to the 50s. "I'm female presenting, so it's not a huge deal to me." Kit figited with her hearing aid.

Five nodded, adjusting his tie. "Shall we go then?"

Kit laughed, and Five's eyes widened. Smiles were rare in the Commission.

"You're in a rush, huh? Alright misanthrope, let's get going."

Kit smirked at Five as he glared at her, grabbing his hand and opening the briefcase.

☂️

"You gotta be kidding me."

Kit rolled her eyes at Five's exclamation, setting the briefcase on her bed. "Hey, it's better than nothing! Once, on a job, I slept on the gravel-"

"Don't care," Five cut her off, sitting on his bed and rubbing his face with his hands.

Unfortunately for him, the Commission was only able to cover one room. Thankfully, there were two beds.

"I shoulda warned you. I heard from some colleagues that they're cutting some budgets now that more people are being let go. It's not the end of the world but we might have some late nights."

Five ignored her and continued to mope.

"C'mon numbnuts. We gotta talk strategy here." Kit walked over to Five on the bed, reaching out her hand to lay it on his shoulder. She let it drop when he flinched back.

"Don't touch me."

Kit sighed and sat beside the man, putting her hands in her lap. "Our target's name is William Meijer. His nephew'll create Meijer some day. But, right now, he's trying to assassinate Eisenhower, so if you don't mind trying to strategize with me-"

"I don't need strategy." Five stood up, pacing in the small hotel room. "I can do this on my own. I don't even know why I even have a partner..." Five began to mumble to himself, continuing to pace.

"Hey!" Kit shouted, Five's head whipping around to meet her eyes, surprised at the sudden outburst.

"Look, buddy. I'm trying my best here. I don't want a partner either, but it looks like we have to put up with each other until someone's sentence ends. So it's either get along, or get dropped from the Commission. And I know I myself would like to get back to the 60s so I can live the life I wanted to before I started murdering people."

Kit took a breath, rubbing her face. She didn't meet Five's face, so she had no idea how he reacted, and quite frankly, she didn't care.

"Now, which is it gonna be?" Kit stuck her hand out.

Five hesitated. He knew he would ultimately need to accept her offer, but he was still processing Kit's words. 60s? Murder?

He huffed and met her hand with his, offering a solid shake.

"Okay!" Kit straightened out her suit. "Now that that's taken care of, how about we start talking strategy?"

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