The Clock struck Midnight, and Midnight struck back. The two danced across the dark library in lockstep, evenly matched, knocking books from their shelves and ink from their wells with little regard for the significant mess the Librarian would have to clean up in the morning. Assassins so rarely thought of such things. They were more often concerned with elaborate murders and making sure their face masks were properly in place and their very unique and identifiable scars and tattoos were properly covered.

"You're a terrible assassin," The Clock goaded, leaping from an armchair onto Midnight's back.

"At least my assassin name isn't 'The Clock,'" Midnight retorted, flinging the other assassin from his back before carefully adjusting his cape.

The Clock stood, looking dizzy. "Yes, because 'Midnight' is so original."

The Librarian watched from the check-out desk, rolling her eyes. "More assassinating, less chatting, please."

New recruits were the worst.