It's the year 2050. Queen Elizabeth still reigns and people are starting to get suspicious. 

She should be dead. 

         Like, six-feet-under-and-worm-chow DEAD. The woman in front of me is anything but. In fact, the infamous-face-on-most-British-pounds-and-Queen is very much alive. Oh, you don’t believe me? Well, I can see her perfectly fine from where I’m standing—which is on the top floor of the cathedral, and a tad to the left. Seriously, as I look through my MS4 Military Grade sniper rifle looking-majig, she looks like tea roses and sunshine. Makes me rethink my nighttime routine. 

Annnnnd people are suspicious. It is the year 2050, and the Queen of England is still the same woman since the begging of time. No joke, it is like she has gracefully aged to the ripe old age of 90 years and then stopped. The Queen of Time. The Woman who—

 Wait one royal second, wasn’t she like 90 years old back in 2015? Am I not getting the full spectrum here? My boss told me that I would be doing the world a favor, that the government needed change. Pfffftt. From last I heard she was doing right to the world—making appearances in hospitals, visiting sick kids and all, and even giving the good people of England tax breaks. Now how come the head of office back home doesn’t do that? Maybe I should find a nice Brit and become English.

The room is massive, like there could be two football fields in here and we’d still have room to party down. It is all but overflowing with people from all over the world—families, diplomats, businessmen and janitors. Even the good-old-faithful king of the Johns gets to attend the Queen’s coordination—like it was the most normal thing in the world.

No one said that a Good Samaritan assassin couldn’t come. It would have said it right on the sign that said, "Must have shirt and shoes to enter". Good thing I have both. 

There are church bells ringing and choir boys singing. It's like I'm smack-dab back at Sunday service back home in Louisiana. Maaaan, I haven't thought of that place since, well, forever. Home.

The image of the Queen and her minions starts to blur. I take a moment to regain my composure. What the heck is wrong with me? I never tear up over a mission, especially when it involves a paid vacation and unlimited funds for my Harry Potter Mission, which involves me visiting all the places described in the books.  

Don't think different of me, everyone has his or her one thing that is strange, mine just involves the Magical World of Wizards. I like to dream of a better place than this crap-world we live in. 

The Queens voice brings me back to the moment at hand and I lock up my good side and unleash my inner bad girl. Queen Elizabeth is a goner; I cannot save her, even if I wanted to.