Sometimes, Johnny would just have days where he'd...remember. He'd remember the hardships of war, the reality of his situations, the look in the opponents eyes before the life drained out of them. The Shadows were really just people they didn't agree with. But it was his job-he'd grown desensitized to it after a few years. Other times, he would remember what it would feel like after getting shot in the head. Yes, he survived, but he didn't like picturing you sitting by his bed, sobbing into the sheets as he had been in a coma for a month. He later learned from the Task Force you came in every day from your office job, no exceptions, with a single red rose and a granola bar. You'd stay the day there, falling asleep into the uncomfortable hospital chairs-just if there was even a slight hope that he would wake up for the night. He eventually did, and you were next to him, holding his hand-he enjoyed remembering how brightly you smiled. Some days he remembered were good. Most of the times, they were bad. Well, this day was one of the bad days, and he was talking to you about how he felt. "I kill people I like. I don't feel sad, I don't feel anything. It's a filthy world we live in. I'm helping to take them somewhere clean and kind. We get dirty to try and scrub the world clean one layer of grime at a time."