They say that your life flashes before your eyes when you're dying.
I'm dying, then.
The weird thing is, I'm not scared. I'm not scared at all. I think I got shot. I can hear people shouting, guns going off, and I've got a feeling this really should hurt like hell, but it doesn't. I'm just wondering where he is.
I've been in plenty of danger before; it comes with the job, I suppose, but there's always been something to warn me. I can't explain it, but it's always been there. Once, I swear something pushed me out of the way, physically, but nobody believed me later. This time though, there was nothing. I think I must have turned round too late or something, then I was here. Watching my life.