Johnny knew what being shot felt like. It had happened before in his time as a vigilante. The bullet burned its way through the skin and left a trail of cold numbness that was followed quickly by agony. It all happened in mere seconds. He didn't hear the sound of it until he'd already been hit. They always said that happened. That mysterious They. And they were always right.
There was a small voice inside of him letting out a stream of berating vocabulary, scolding him for letting his guard down, calling him an idiot. Asking him why he wasn't wearing his special kevlar. That last was easy enough to answer. He hadn't been given it in this world. His guns and his bike, that's all that he'd gotten. And because of the way the world was, he'd never once thought about trying to replace the full body protection he usually sported.
Johnny felt the pain in his back, and in his chest. Whatever else had gone on, the bullet had gone through. He could feel the blood trickling down his skin, and looked down at himself. The suit jacket was too dark to show the blood, but when he pulled it away, the crisp white shirt under it was soaked through.
The wound wasn't small. The path of the bullet, so far that he could see, was almost dead on to his heart. Through a lung, as well, which he noticed first by the way his breath came ragged and with difficulty. The fact that he also tasted the coppery warmth in his mouth, felt it on his lips, solidified the idea that his lung had caught part of the damage. It wasn't really that part that he was most worried about. Johnny could feel that his heart wasn't pumping. There were no beats of it anywhere he could usually account for it.
Of all the things they didn't know, stopping his heart was one that had always been a major question. It still beat, after all. What would happen if it didn't anymore?
Johnny looked at Mary, sadness in his eyes. At least she was safe. Rob and Max were in the other room. She was safe. They would find her. Get her out of her. End the life of that psycho. She was safe.
He reached out with his hand, a little of his own blood on it, some of Mary's. Johnny even managed a small smile for her. He wanted to tell her how he felt. Or let her know that it was going to be okay. Or just say anything. But he couldn't get the breath to do it. He managed to lay a soft touch on her cheek before he fell backward and darkness enveloped him.