I walk stiffly with a straight back. The weight of Sully's spare, only-for-emergencies pistol presses into the small of my back. He's been taking me to the firing range to practice and I'm getting better, but there's still room for improvement. Sully says I should only shoot in self defense, so it's not like I have to become a marksman or anything. I asked him how many people he's killed on one of our outings to the firing range, but he just brushed me off.

Sully and I are sneaking into some dig to take some artifact or other. Everything goes well slipping around sensors and cameras, but we turn a corner and there's a group of guards. They turn around, reaching for their guns and Sully shoots at their feet, then drags me around the corner. "Stay here," he commands.

"Why? I can help."

"Don't argue with me, Nate." He takes off and darts behind another piece of cover.

I roll my eyes and sulk. He does this every time. How am I ever gonna learn if he never lets me do anything? I narrow my eyes and suck in a breath, gathering my resolve. I point my gun around the corner and take aim. One guard pokes his head out and I line up the shot. But I freeze. He doesn't see me. It would be too easy. It almost feels wrong.

But then he raises his gun and aims at Sully. That is not okay. Rage makes me squeeze the trigger. I watch his head snap back and he crumples to the ground. Headshot. I flatten myself against the wall and take short shallow breaths. I just killed a man. Oh shit... I killed him. I killed him. I killed him. The scene keeps replaying over and over again. The bullet. The blood. I think I'm gonna be sick.

Sully takes care of the rest of them and comes back to get me. "You good, kid?"

"Uh-huh."

"Alright, let's keep moving."

As we walk through the carnage, I can't keep my eyes off my the bullet hole in my victim's head. Sully takes about half an hour to find the one specific artifact, mostly because I'm too freaked out to help.

I barely speak on the way back to the hotel. Sully tells me to wash off and change into to something presentable to meet the buyer in, so I lock myself in the bathroom and run the water to wash my face and hands. I stand in front of the mirror, trying to get the dirt out from under my fingernails. I stare intently at my face. Nothing looks different, but I have a strange feeling in my chest. And it's not the pleasant kind.

Sully knocks (bangs) on the door and says, "Hey, move it along in there, princess."

My eyes have trouble refocusing on the doorknob, so I fumble with the door for a while. "Sorry," I mumble, staring past Sully's head.

He gives me a weird look, then he gasps when he catches a glimpse of my hands. "Jesus Christ, Nate! What'd you do?!"

I lazily gaze down at my palms. They're an angry red color and they throb when I think too hard. "Oh."

"Oh? I told you to scrub off the dirt, not three layers of your skin. Come 'ere." He sits me on the bed and digs through his toiletries bag. With a triumphant "ah ha", he returns to me with a tube of ointment. "This will soothe the burning."

"Burning?"

"Yeah, it looks like you scalded yourself. Pretty badly, actually. This has got to be killing you."

"Hm. Haven't noticed."

Sully shakes his head and wraps my hands with thin sheets of white cloth to keep the ointment from getting wiped off. "What were you doing in there?"

"Washing my hands."

"With sulfuric acid?" He stands up and heads into the bathroom. I hear him running the tap. He reenters the room, hands on his hips. "That water's practically boiling. How did you not notice?"

I shrug.

Sully sighs and runs his hand through his hair. "Are you feeling okay?"

I shrug.

"Are you hurt?"

I shrug.

"Did you hit your head?"

I shrug.

"Are you some kinda heat resistant alien-mutant-freak-thing?"

I shrug.

"Then what's up?"

I shrug.

"Nate, don't make me ask again. I want a verbal answer."

"I..." I swallow deeply. "I shot a guy."

Understanding flashes in Sully's eyes and he sits next to me, hands folded in his lap. "You killed someone today. That's a pretty big deal." I shudder involuntarily goes down my spine. "But it's not the end of the world. He would have killed you if you didn't kill him. It's nothing to be upset over."

He tries to put a hand on my shoulder, but I spring to my feet. "Well, it's easy for you to say. You've probably killed dozens, maybe hundreds of people! You don't remember what it feels like! How can you possibly know what I'm going through?"

"Because it feels that way every time!" His voice rings in the small room. "I hate to tell you this, kid, but it never gets any easier. The anger, the sadness, the pain, it's always there. But I live with it because it's my job."

"But why would you take a job where you know you have to kill people?"

"Look, I'm trying to make you feel better." I notice he dodges my question. "Can you just work with me for once?"

I cover my face with my hands. "I'm just... I'm just-"

"Scared?" he answers, taking the word out of my mouth. I peer through my fingers at him. "You're scared of the little part of your brain that enjoyed it."

I don't have to ask what "it" is. I just nod.

"Well, you should be scared. The power the pistol gives you is the power to take another life. Men with no control over their lives long for that power, making them unpredictable and dangerous. They long to exact their revenge, show off, or simply kill for the fun of it. The fear you feel is an inhibitor. It'll keep you from becoming a homicidal maniac. It's healthy. Keep that fear alive, and you'll have nothing to worry about. Okay kid?"

I nod, silently appreciating his advice more than I can say. It's been a long time since someone's cared enough to simply talk to me about what's on my mind. In fact, I'm not sure I've ever had anyone do that. I figured it was something that only happened in the movies, like superheroes or zombies. (I mean, seriously! Zombies? Like that's ever gonna happen...)

Sully rubs his eyes. "How 'bout this? I'll cancel with the buyer. We can rent a movie and get take out instead. Would you like that?"

The weight of the day lifts off my shoulders. "Yes, I would really like that."

He smiles at me and adds, "But none of those Star Crap movies. I can't stand that sci-fi shit."

I laugh. "Yeah, I know. After a year with you, anyone with half a brain could figure out you're more of a Bond guy."

"You know I love me some Bond."

Our hands meet for a high five and I scream, "Damn, that hurts!" I grip my wrist, palm burning like fire.

"Well, it's good to know you're human after all," Sully says, helping me run my hands under cool water.