Dana looks on at the skyline, his cigarette hanging lazily between his fingers. It's morning again in Brooklyn, and today he'll kill eight people across the five boroughs.
As soon as his cigarette starts to reach for his lips, Dana hears the metal creak of a door behind him.
"New rooftop this time?" Christian asks as he approaches.
"Yeah," Dana hums, "The last one was nice, but the plaza would get too crowded."
"I'm surprised you hung out on that one for as long as you did," says Christian.
"Me too," Dana sighs. He turns back to the city, kisses his cigarette, and stretches out the broad, black-feathered wings from his back. The wind pushes into them, nearly bringing Dana off-balance.
"You know, technically we do have all day," Christian's voice rings out from behind, "But I'd rather not put things off."
"Look at the sunrise, Christian," Dana says, "Just give yourself a second before things start."
"I think I saw enough sunrises before I died," Christian replies.
"Bullshit. You can't see enough of anything."
Christian sighs and steps beside Dana's outstretched wing. He doesn't stretch out his own wings, nor does he give downtown too long of a look. His eyes turn to Dana, whose black halo shifts above him in the wind. Even in death, the valkyrie clings to life.