It's 5092 and you're twenty two years old when you pass out from the agency.
Passing out is very important. There are many agents that will never get that far. Many that won't even make it past the first few weeks of medicals and tests. That's all before the months of training and rigorous trials. And even that won't guarantee a place.
Passing out is a sign of achievement. It's a culmination of acquired knowledge and ability. It's when you become somebody. When you become a free spirit and when you cease to be free at all.
The first thing you get is the mark. A tattoo on your chest that brands you as one of 'them'. A code embedded into the skin forever that tells a story of who you are. That no matter what name you will wear (as you will wear many), that they can recognise you.
Next is what you wait for most. What you've seen and coveted as long as you can remember. As long as you've known of the agency; of what they plan to do and what they are capable of. You were the first to sign up and you're the first to be issued with yours. It's tastefully done, encased in a leather strap that buckles at the wrist (so it blends in across time, they say). You've had to study the manual for weeks and by the time you're given it you know its workings inside out. You know which buttons will send you where, and how to skip across a century in a heartbeat.
You vow to never take it off, as long as you live.
( What is it? )
Muse: Captain Jack Harkness
Fandom: Doctor Who/Torchwood
Word count: 1303