It’s amazing what a wig and a bit of makeup can do. It’s not exactly a masterful disguise but it does the trick. It gets her past the security guards and the receptionist. It’s gets her all the way into his office, with her favorite pistol in hand and her finger on the trigger. He doesn’t even get the chance to scream before she’s shot him.
48 hours and seven bodies left to go.
Deadlines tended to be relatively life or death in the cosmic corrections office, and someone had fucked up the natural order of the universe by saving ten people who’d been scheduled to die in a train accident the week prior. They only had so much time to correct the error before Madame Death came down from on high to deal with it herself, and the higher-ups of the Cosmic Corrections Committee had made it abundantly clear that no one wanted to face her wrath.