"I always had a soft spot for Rome. Did my first barehanded strangulation here. Communist politician. God, I miss communism. The Red Threat. People were scared, the Agency was respected, and I got laid every night."
          -- George Kaplan, Hudson Hawk

I was 26 the first time I killed a man, and it wasn't anything like what I had expected. I'd shot people before - twice when I was a cop in NYC and once in the Bureau - but that was just to bring them down.

I'd been with the FBI for a couple of years when I started working for that old smoking bastard and the Consortium. Before they assigned me to more interesting projects like Mulder, I was just a thug, an assassin. In the beginning, they always sent me out with Luis, and it chapped my ass. I was cocky and ambitious, and I wanted to prove that I could handle anything. I didn't need a babysitter.

It made sense, though; they didn't trust me yet. There was a lot riding on us, and Luis was their old faithful. So I rode shotgun, so to speak, and Luis pulled the trigger. I must have watched him take out a dozen targets before they gave me my own job. I remember when I watched Luis do his jobs, it was just like a movie, except quieter and messier. Watching's not the same as doing.

I spent some time visualizing my first kill, preparing myself for some emotional reaction. I was confident that I could do it, but I wasn't sure what I'd feel. I imagined pointing my pistol at some sad bastard and feeling superior because I was on the right end of the barrel. I imagined I might feel proud about a job well done. I wondered if pity would well up, filling me with remorse even as I made myself pull the trigger. Maybe I'd get a hard-on; I'd seen enough sick fucks in my line of work to know it was possible.

It was so easy breaking into the house, but Luis was giving me these looks like I'd better not fuck it up. Then the doctor came in, right on schedule, and everything stretched out silent and perfect, like I was in slow motion. My arm was steady, the sights were aligned over his heart, and when I shot him, it was ...

It was like when you're driving on a lonely highway, and you've got no place to be. The sun is shining warm on your face, the air smells sweet, and everything feels right. All your thoughts disappear, and you feel content, like nothing could possibly change, like the world was created just for you, just for that perfect afternoon, just so you could experience pure joy with no strings attached.

That's what it was like when I killed him. I loved it, and I knew I was in trouble, because if I didn't get out soon, I'd never be able to stop.