He clenched his fist around the USB, impatience gripping him as he waited. He had just finished pacing only to sit down, unaware of his rocking back and forth. Once he saw her, he was back to his feet. He wanted to push it into her hand and disappear. Instead, she guided him to a table, “let’s have a drink first,” she offered.

“Sure.”

They sat, ordered drinks. Small talk. He looked around, more small talk. The crowd was distant, his mind never leaving what he ha seen. How he felt.

Once the drinks were in front of them, she sipped hers, a tall cold beer. She looked at him, “tell me what is on that, what you found.”

“It’s bad. There is a lot of sadistic, horrible child exploitation material in here,” he held his glass of straight whisky.

“I understand, can you give me a summary?”

He gulped down his whisky.

“Most of it’s point of view. The man has a camera on him, so they are filming what they are doing from their perspective. I saw them pull a kid from a bed, throw the kid to the ground, strip them naked. The kid is crying, they are scared. He keeps pulling and prying, feeling them all over. Prodding hands over their body. They do this to another kid, just as young. I saw them tie the kids up, naked, face down. Bound, hands and feet tied together. The kids are screaming, begging for mercy. Calling for their parents. Screaming for God to help them. No one comes to help them, just tears and screaming.”

“My God, that’s horrible,” she sipped her beer.

He went on, “in other clips, he kicked over a boy, that had his throat slit. The boy was still holding a bottle of water. His eyes wide open. Then another video, I could see a child running through a field. Chased, they tormented him. Then, then….they shot him. They shot this kid dead.”

“The boy, they killed him?”

He nodded, “yeah. It goes on like this. A lot of molesting and stripping but the other folders are far worse.”

“How so?” she had finished her beer.

“I think that it’s a collection put together. In one, there were boys, young, crying. They had their arms and legs beaten. Bashed until they bruised. In one, I could see the bone break the skin. The kids had their limbs shattered. Another, a truncheon sodomised the boy. The kid kept begging for help, no one came to save him. It was horrible…”

“Those poor angels,” her face trembled between anger and empathy.

“I then saw toddlers, small, fragile little things laying in dirt, bullet holes through their head or heart.”

“Sniped like game?”

“I think so.”

They ordered another drink. Her hand went for his, a waiter pushed the drinks pushed in front of them both. He carefully continued, “I saw a little girl, broken and burned. Her body falling to pieces from the trauma. She was dead but brutally so. And, and another, I saw her laying there, eyes open. Her chest busted open, I could see her heart ripped from her little body covered in ash and dirt.”

“Whoever did this will pay. The bastards.”

“I remember this one, two men held a boy down they electrocuted him and then poured water down his throat until he drowned. He begged, why would they not stop? He was scared, calling for mercy. Why was there no mercy?”

“The sadistic bastards.”

“A kid, coughing up blood, another hugging them holding them, siblings, they, they embrace. One dies while their bloody hand print is stained on the others chest. Why would someone do that?”

“Horrible.”

“I could go on, but…”

“It’s OK. Do you know where this all was filmed?”

He nodded, “yeah, Afghanistan. The other folders Iraq, Syria, Palestine…”

She broke out in laughter. A release of relief. Her eyes no longer wet from rage and sickness, instead from a strange joy.

“What, what’s wrong?” he asked confused.

“It’s OK. You mean these were filmed from the solders doing this? From wars over there?”

“Yeah.”

She pushed the USB back towards him, “it’s OK, there is a context. It’s all fine. Go home, take a sleeping pill and sleep. You are worried about nothing.”

She put money on the table to cover her drinks, stood up and smiled, “nothing there is wrong.”

“It’s wrong to me,” he whispered defeated.

She smiled, “get some sleep. It’s not wrong, you just need to learn the importance of context.”

“These are innocent kids…”

She spoke over him,“there is no innocent parties in there, you just need to understand the context. Collateral sure, but innocent they are not. You are overthinking it is all. Good bye,” she walked back into the crowd, to her career.

He sat, the USB firmly in his grip. He paid for his drinks stood to leave, as he left he dropped the USB and all within into the bin. He went home, with no peace of mind, regardless of context. She went back to her job, certain that context mattered. Context…