Keagan sits next to Marks, both of them in silence. His first kill. He can still see the look on the face of the young Argentinian who, not ten minutes ago had a life to experience. Was it surprise, fear, in reality a combination of the two, but a look that would remain etched in Keagan’s memory, he knew that.
He looked no more than sixteen, maybe seventeen and it was clear from his clumsy attempt to train his gun on Keagan, he was not highly trained. Keagan had done his job. The job he was highly trained to do and it was automatic, would he do the same again? Yes he knows he would, and he knows he is likely to be doing a lot more. As a young man he got satisfaction from winning a fight. But then the person he was fighting ‘deserved it’ and… would live to see the next day. The young Argentinian, now just a body among the tens of bodies being laid out in front of the building, wouldn’t be going home to his friends, his family, maybe girlfriend. He was just on the wrong side and it was Keagan’s job.
There was no satisfaction, no feelings of power or any of the emotions he felt as a young man experiencing the realities of growing up on the streets of East London. The surprising thing to Keagan was not that he felt bad, he felt sad for the young man and his family. Not even the shock of seeing what a bullit will do to a man’s head at short range surprised him, it was as horrific as he thought it would be. But, he didn’t feel guilty. He should, he always thought he would, but actually the guilt wasn’t there amongst all that he was feeling. He didn’t know why and that surprised him.
Touching the crucifix he always wore beneath his combats, he offered a silent prayer. For the young man who would not be returning home and for his own part in that outcome.