Interesting point of order, John did not have eyes anymore, and so what he did was technically not seeing. Though, it was seeing, or, no, rather it was something approximate to seeing, that was probably the best way to phrase it, it was something approximate. John didn’t see, though he still took in color and texture and electromagnetic wavelengths, but the information that was taken in, taken in by the holes that had been left on him, it wasn’t exactly seeing, or it was, but rather,

John didn’t see light anymore. He saw space.

Not space as in stars and planets of course, but space as in the relation of objects in a physical area. He saw the two men beside him and he saw the rhythmic thumping of their chests as their hearts beat, slightly faster than standard pace, and he saw the lines and lines of stitching in their blue shirt on which he saw dozens of light splotches of foreign substances, old stains that no longer had a color of their own but stayed in the fabric nonetheless and he saw the individual pieces of the guns kept at their sides, saw the slight gaps where springs fit and parts slid and the magazines with 10 individual bullets loaded within and he saw in there the gunpowder packed into the base of the shells down to the grain and- well, if he wanted to John could see the objects that made up objects and the space between them, if he wanted to he could see the individual particles and atoms that made up all of these but he tried not to. He tended to get lost trying to go that deep.

Normally John could see more but to see he needed holes, he needed holes in more places to see in more places, but he couldn’t place holes so he could only see from himself and it was very restrictive.