In the middle of a populated commercial street, a doddery old woman wrestled with her jamming metal walker. Surrounding traffic slowed down to make way, giving wide berth to a terrible accident waiting to happen.

I slammed on my accelerator.

My target didn’t appear to notice death’s approach bearing down on her with ten tonnes of onrushing blue metal; regardless, I didn’t let up. Mine was carnage on wheels; collider of worlds and harbinger of fatal finality.

But instead of splattering a bloody, traumatic old-lady smear onto the road and several unsuspecting shopfront windows, a shape on the footpath lurched into frantic motion. A figure on the sidewalk – pale-skinned, dark-haired and so charismatically dead I’d barely acknowledged it had existed – somehow covered the span of the crossing, shoved the old woman sprawling into the opposite stream of traffic, and died horrendously on my front grille and fender.

Like they did every time.

The heroic sacrifice made a noticeable bump under my tyres. I roared over it, flicked my wipers on to make a window in the viscera, and trailed bloody tracks past a street full of stunned pedestrians. For most, I assumed this would be their first murder.

It was that kind of universe.

No one stopped me. Once I’d left visual proximity to the accident, the blood could more plausibly be explained as red paint. Fewer horrified faces looked my way, replaced by expressions of general curiosity.

I drove until I found a door large enough to admit me, which took a few blocks and brought me into the proximity of distant sirens. At the threshold, I turned neither left nor right but away, passing through the versal mists of the Interstice into a large, appropriately dull industrial loading zone. If you ignored all the blood.

A hazmat-suited figure wielding a bulky high-pressure washer was busy cleaning it off as I arrived. I drove courteously through the uncleaned part into the Chapel’s mechanical car wash, sat in it for five minutes, and emerged mostly acceptable and somewhat damp back into the loading zone, clean part this time.

The hazmat-wielder waved me over. I couldn’t see who it was through the suit, but overall likelihood, height, and the stiltedness of the wave made me assume it was Imbertri. I had planned to park and dry off, but rolled slowly over until we stood grille to reflective face-plate.

The figure coughed and tapped at where its ear would be. It was Imbertri. I could tell from the voice.

“What’s up?” I asked as I switched into human form, resisting the urge to spit on the floor. I pushed the hair out of my eyes instead. I was still blue as a human, though less in the body and more in the hair, which had always seemed woefully common until the multiverse had indicated otherwise.

I was a fairly typical representative of my universe when it came down to it. Not just in the hair. Even being typical was typical; we didn’t have a lot of diversity. Too many invasion-sired generations. I’d always assumed I’d end up a killer, though not quite this way. Instead of the expected scarring and heavily-trained muscles, my limbs remained slender and smooth like a child’s.

On second thought, perhaps I wasn’t such a typical example, after all.

“New job,” Imbertri said. “They wanted you soon.”

“Already? I just got back.”

The cleaner shrugged, a small gesture in the expansive garage. “Don’t shoot the messenger. Who did you kill this time?”

I gave her a vaguely wry look, which would have been more satisfying if I could see the return expression. The question was redundant enough it had become a joke.

“Well,” I replied, making a show of thinking it over, “this one was so unremarkable, I almost didn’t see him even after his insides coated my windscreen. So you know what that means. He’ll probably be some kind of charisma-based attention-seeker in the next life.”

“Great!” Imbertri said in a too-cheerful tone. “Bet on it?”

Reincarnators inexplicably worked like that. I wasn’t really supposed to see what became of my targets after reducing them to paste, but word got around. From everything Chapel gossip collectively pieced together, Reins - pronounced like the weather pattern - tended to grow into their biggest shortcomings. Usually it also happened to coincide with what they thought they were best at, and nobody missed the irony.

“No.” My usual answer. “I’m still saving.”

“Oh? I thought you were about to finally leave us.”

I grunted. “I had to spend it on repairs. Remember that time I got sent to the lava world?” I held up my arms, which were a distinctly different colour from the elbows down. The lower half of my face and neck were similarly mismatched, brown to a clashing grey, but I hadn’t had enough for a full repanel even with all my savings. I’d noticed Imbertri’s prior lack of remark on it, but had put it down to politeness. Now I wondered.

“Well, that shouldn’t be a problem for you.”

“Turns out there were several different types of magma stream, and I crossed into the wrong one. Apparently it was a caste system thing. They need to sort out their issues.”

“Maybe they’ll send a Rein there.”

I doubted it. Too many universes and not enough potential candidates, the official line went, and there didn’t seem to be much crossing of the streams. “Maybe,” I said, and turned away from the hazmat suit.

“Hey,” Imbertri’s filtered voice stated softly behind me.

I paused.

“I’m sorry to hear,” the cleaner said. “I know how much you deserve an advancement. You’ve been here longer than any of us.”

“Thanks, Imbertri,” I said without turning round.

“At least you’re not the only one with a Defect.”

I feigned an appreciative wave in solidarity at the sympathetic tone in her voice. Privately, I felt a sting of guilt. It was my fault she had similar issues; my augment at work sabotaging hers. The only reason the Chapel kept me even at ground level was because my skillset did reliably do the job, and most Fate manipulators rose up the ranks too fast to stay in the field. We were a rare and expensive commodity, each one worth keeping around despite a certain amount of potential liability.

Feeling a little low, I headed towards the inner door and my unexpected appointment, steps making little suction noises on the cleaning fluid.

Near Miss should have been a coveted augment, like any under the banner of Fate. Receiving it at all, as with any of its kind, was an extremely prestigious honour. Operating correctly, it protected its owners from sudden harm and could similarly safeguard others. At higher grades, it could do a lot more.

Unfortunately, I’d been saddled with the lowest. By accident, no less, because of course the stupid thing had sidestepped being granted to its intended recipient. I couldn’t prove it, and neither could anyone else. But to those in the service of Fate, it was obvious. Once the candidate I’d ‘stolen’ from had realised, they apparently hadn’t even been mad. Just grateful it hadn’t been them.

In theory, any augment was a valuable asset regardless of grade. In practice, Defects carried a high death rate. They weren’t weak or even necessarily bad, but their lack of control often turned them into a ticking bomb. It was always a risk; there was no way to know what grade you were receiving until after it took hold.

And once you had one, you had it for life. However short it ended up being.

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Past the inner door lay the infinite staircase. I let the former close, waited a second, then reopened the panel. Here in the Chapel, Fate would ensure it led to wherever I needed to be.

Fate - the reason we were here. The reason we did anything. We took souls and shunted them on, delivering them to their next destination. There, they would save everyone. It was important work, critical work, so simple and so hollow. Because Fate didn’t make sense. It picked and it chose, with very particular preferences, and not ones I necessarily agreed with.

The important detail was that we created saviours. Even if they didn’t like our methods at the time.

The landing door opened into a shadowy, featureless room containing only a tiny poker table bordered by two chairs. Two faces snapped to stare at me – one shellshocked, and one mildly hostile. The former looked painfully bland even in desperate horror.

Not where I was meant to be.

“Sorry,” I said, and then squinted at the interviewee. “Is he the one I just killed?”

“What?” stammered the Rein. He followed it up with a better line. “I’m dead?”

His interviewer glowered at me; an improbably tall, overly chiselled and beautiful second-tier pulling the goddess shtick, probably a Pen or a Hex. The divinity angle was an outright lie the Chapel fed to the Reins to make things easier to explain. I vaguely recognised her from my old training, though she’d been different back then. “You,” she said in a warning voice, “are not meant to be here.”

I shrugged, closed the door and tried again. I was used to it.

This time, I found myself stepping into an expansive, well-lit office. Delicately-partitioned windows in white curly frames encompassed the entire back wall, looking down from height onto a grand manicured garden. Probably real and part of some favoured universe, although I wasn’t fully certain. It was difficult to know with the second-tiers, whose range of augments put them well beyond the capabilities of someone at my level.

I stowed the thought and focused on the unfamiliar woman in front of me. She wore a layered decorative suit possibly local to the world outside the windows, had pale green hair and a surprisingly unremarkable appearance for a second-tier. Quad, most likely. All that mattered was that she would be in charge of this mission.

Fate being so fundamentally entwined with the Chapel and everyone in it resulted in it running on a fairly flat hierarchy within tiers. Who I took orders from changed with the whim of whatever forces of destiny happened to be dominant that day. I was always surprised such a laissez-faire system didn’t result in more conflicts or disorganisation, but Fate seemed to iron those out, too. My impression of the upper tiers was that the higher someone rose, the more they became shrouded in calm serenity as the combined proximity of Fate and concentrated versal magic took care of all the wrinkles.

“Hi,” I responded to her welcoming smile, warming to her a little. “I’m –”

“Lamutri,” she interrupted, smile widening.

“I suppose I can’t confuse anyone looking like this.”

My temporary boss raised her eyebrows at me and walked around the edge of the office’s giant desk. “We worked together on the murder floor. It hasn’t been that long.”

I stared at her blankly, failing to place the connection. “What’s the job?” I asked. “Beyond going to a world and bringing in a candidate.”

“You’re in luck,” said the unidentified woman. She clasped her hands in front of her chest. “We’re having some trouble killing this one. There’s triple pay in it for you if you get it right.”

“Trouble? How so?”

“It’s not entirely clear. The previous agents we sent haven’t come back. There’s an environmental hazard, which is where you qualify, and beyond that, indications are he might be Fate-resistant in some measure. Believe it or not, a Defect might be helpful in this case. Since you don’t hit targets directly –”

I almost asked how many failures there had been to match them to the multiplier, but knew it would go nowhere. More likely they’d give the job to someone else, and I needed the income.

Curiosity won out over self-interest. “Agents not reporting in is serious,” I said. “Why can’t you find an alternative candidate?”

“I wondered the same. Apparently it comes straight from the Machine. I’m assuming this one needs to be sent to one of the special worlds that needs a particular Rein to do what all of them do every time.”

“Defeat the monsters, constructs, local government hierarchy, deities and generally anyone who so much as looks at them the wrong way,” I agreed. “Maybe we did work together.”

“You really don’t…” The woman paused, an expression of realisation passing over her features. A moment later, the same features shimmered and blurred, revealing a subtly different face. “Sorry. It’s been a while and I’ve stopped noticing the difference.”

“Oh,” I said in immediate recognition. “What augment is that? Save Face?”

We had worked together, and not that long ago. Few first-tiers ever wanted to be assassins, but Flintri had been my partner in holding herself back. Flinq now, probably, depending on how she’d reconfigured her name. In her case it had been deliberate, all in the name of strategy. I’d been happy for her when she’d finally moved up, even though it gave me twin pangs of envy and loss each time.

She was mostly the same person I remembered, though a little taller, more athletic and better-looking, like the flaws had been partially airbrushed out of reality. She still had her glasses, though the lenses had taken on a slight crystalline hue making it difficult to see her eyes. Without the filter to obscure it, she was starting to look less human in the subtle – or less so – ways common to the Chapel. Not an augment; just the unavoidable standard impacts of advancement.

They seemed not to have made it to her personality yet. “Close. Fool’s Gold,” Flinq said, with more than a hint of pride. “Exalt grade.”

“You landed another Exalt?” I could feel the jealousy crawling down my skin like a physical shroud.

Flinq dropped her hands towards the small of her back. “I should hope so. It took years of building up Long Game before I was ready to risk expending it on this purchase. Part of me hoped it might even earn me an Arch. But I’m still very happy with the outcome.”

“As you should be,” I stressed. “I don’t know if I’d be able to wait that long.”

“It wasn’t easy,” Flinq admitted. “I’m already saving for the next trigger. The initial disadvantage wasn’t fun, but I’m stronger for it in the long run. And each time it will get easier.”

“I wish my drawbacks paid off,” I muttered. “Mine just compound.”

Flinq’s eyes darted to my face. I chose not to elaborate.

The office didn’t contain a chair for me to sit in, so I continued standing awkwardly. “What’s life like at second-tier?”

“Less murder, at least. A lot of candidate interviews. Although I’m now the one giving the orders, and that makes it worse in a way. I’m not really supposed to talk about it.” She shrugged, but I got the impression there was more to it.

“Did they tell you the secret?” I persisted.

There had to be one. There had to be a reason behind it all – the Reins and the killing, the conquering and saving the world, the uncanny similarities and why it all repeated over and over. Even if that reason turned out to be nothing more than institutional incompetence. Every first-tier wanted to know.

She shook her head. “I’m only a Quad, you know. It’s only been two years since I left.”

“Yes, but it may as well be a chasm,” I pointed out. “No one goes back once they make it. The only funnel is up.”

“And I wonder where they all go,” Flinq returned, oddly animated compared to her prior language. “Everyone here is a Hex or below. Occasionally I’ll spy a Sept around, but there should be plenty more. The Chapel should be top-heavy.”

It was a discussion we’d all had many times, ominous in its enduring mystery. The official line was that third-tiers had paid their service and were free to act as they pleased. I wasn’t sure how many agents believed it.

“The multiverse is a big place,” I said. “They’re probably all somewhere else, enjoying ascension. At least they are around and you know the Chapel isn’t feeding advancements directly into a woodchipper.”

Flinq shuffled uncomfortably into the seat behind the desk, bounded by hedges in the backdrop. It was the right size for her, as if she’d outfitted it personally, though there were few other tools in the room to work with. It was always like this in the Chapel. Rooms, people and gratuitous furniture that felt like a veneer.

And yet everyone wanted to be here. Augments made you better, usually, and moving up a tier did, too. If they stripped the humanity out along the way, well, I’d already been forcibly accustomed to that anyway. And it was the only path forward. Unless I wanted to die.

I had to remind myself that despite all my Defects, I’d been astoundingly lucky. A random bystander on a recruiter world, I’d been destined for neither reincarnation nor Chapel patronage. If not for Near Miss backfiring, I’d have been on track to die an ordinary mortal death never even knowing other universes existed. Trillions met the same fate daily.

“I’ve said too much,” Flinq admitted, cutting my observations short. She wriggled in her seat and laced her fingers together. “The candidate you need is named Jadal Cai. The world is the Black Waste.”

“They named it that?”

“It’s a post-apoc. They probably lost records of the original.”

“Oh god,” I commented. “He’ll be the edgy type, won’t he? They’re the worst.”

“I thought the bland ones were the worst.”

“Edgy is still bland,” I countered. “They just lack the self-awareness to realise.”

“I’ve missed you, Lamutri,” Flinq said, unlacing the hands. “I wish I could make you my permanent charge. But that’s not how it works. You need to advance, and then we can catch up.”

Despite the nice office, personal changes and very nice augment, I recognised the loneliness in her eyes. “I can stay a bit longer,” I offered, stooping as if to sit on the floor. “I’m in no hurry.”

“You are, actually,” said Flinq. She blinked and straightened, as if only now recalling we were on official business. “This one can’t wait, especially given its history. I’m sorry. But every deadline we miss is a world doomed. You know the drill. Be careful.”

I nodded, dropping out of the faux-crouch. Work came first. “In that case, I’ll see you at the debrief.”

The assassins before me hadn’t come back, had they? Maybe I should have been turning this job down. But the Chapel wouldn’t send me into a mission I couldn’t handle. The Machine knew what it was doing.

After all, nothing could overcome Fate.