He has a gun. And he has it pointed not at him, but at Karen.
That's the only thing John sees as Brady comes flying from the dark, running directly at the person in this city he loves the most, and so he lifts his own weapon without a thought. It's instinct and the world goes quiet around him as he aims, not at Patrick Brady's kneecap, like he ought to, but at his centre mass. Even before he pulls the trigger, he knows this shot is going to kill the man.
He doesn't care.
Brady goes down before he can fire his own gun, a crumpled heap on the floor, and John steps forward and kicks the gun away from his outstretched hand before he turns to look at Karen.
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That's the only thing John sees as Brady comes flying from the dark, running directly at the person in this city he loves the most, and so he lifts his own weapon without a thought. It's instinct and the world goes quiet around him as he aims, not at Patrick Brady's kneecap, like he ought to, but at his centre mass. Even before he pulls the trigger, he knows this shot is going to kill the man.
He doesn't care.
Brady goes down before he can fire his own gun, a crumpled heap on the floor, and John steps forward and kicks the gun away from his outstretched hand before he turns to look at Karen.