Nick was out late, not doing much except being bored and thinking of new and fun ways to piss Eden - one of his friends... colleagues? - off. So far, he wasn't having much luck. Skating and vigilante-ing and the argument with Eden and having a demon pulling his spine right out of his dorsal cavity made for an exhausting time, as luck would have it. Ha. Luck. As if Nick had any of /that/ left. Nick whistled as he walked through the dark, semi-empty streets of New York, duffel bag thumping against his back. He wasn't that tall nor all that buff but there was an odd air about him that made people back away, avert their eyes, cross to the other side of the street.
Nick blamed it on the demon.