The footsteps running away from the man on the floor of his office were rapid and panicked, but he didn’t notice. He was more concerned about the slug in his guts. His best guess would be that it nicked his lung.

Not that it really mattered. Because just the pain was a bit more disconcerting. He wanted – no, needed someone there now.

But the pain was overpowering.

The young man could barely think. In fact, he couldn’t.

Someone, please – just stop the pain.

He tried to take a deep breath, but a coppery taste clogged the back of his throat. He could barely breathe, now…and it just hurt so goddamn much.

He had his phone at hand…but he just wanted…to sleep…and rest…he would last just a few more seconds? Fatigue was clouding his mind and vision, and he knew he needed to make a call…

But he couldn’t…now his own hand wasn’t complying anymore.

The thirty-ish man heard siren and footsteps. Somebody had seen, or heard – and now they were going to get help for him.

Finally

He could’ve smiled in relief, but none of his body was cooperation.

He managed one thankful smile to the paramedic above him, before his mind glazed over, and he knew no more.

“His chest is already prepped-”

“Cold packs!”

“He’s crashing-”

“Adrenaline! NOW!”

But suddenly, a flat-line screech from the heart monitor assaulted the doctors’ ears in the ER.

“Defibrillator!”

“Get a crash cart in here now!”

Dr. Allen charged it up.

“CLEAR!” She shouted before pressing down on the cute but bleeding man’s chest.

He gave the same reaction as any other patient, but he still didn’t wake up.

But there was a blip in the monitor.

Beep

It was faint, and suddenly the young man was flat-lining again.

“CLEAR!”

Beep.

It may have been something, but it wasn’t enough.

“CLEAR!”

“Get her some more adrenaline-”

“Twenty cc’s-”

“Two milligrams of the-”

“Where’s that crash cart?”

“CLEAR!”

Nothing.

The doctors worked hard.

Very hard.

But the bullet hadn't grazed the lungs like the young man thought - it had grazed the heart.

Enough that anything they tried to revive him would only make it worse.

In the end, the final flat-line assaulted their ears and Erica Allen looked down at the man, before pounding his chest in frustration.

But there was nothing they could do.

She switched off the EMT monitor. The man was dead.

“Calling time of death,” she said to an orderly ready and nearby. “Two thirty one in the morning.”

“Name?” Orderly asked. She checked the pockets and found a wallet, with an ID with a matching picture in it.