Hell's Kitchen. Manhattan. Louis sits on his apartment couch with a bottle of beer and his feet up on the coffee table. He hums a bit, resting back with his arm over the top of the cushions. Glenn Miller’s Moonlight Serenade plays on the small radio nearby, the only real noise in the dark quiet aside from the nightly city atmosphere outside. There doesn’t seem like much left to do otherwise.

"So, this is it then, huh?" Louis tilts his head back to blow cigarette smoke out and up toward the ceiling. "This really is the end of the world, ain't it?"

He was so sure that everything was done the way they were told. It isn’t the first time he’s faced this sort of cosmic cataclysm before, and despite being more akin to a poor man’s magician, he’s found a way to slip the noose dozens of times. This time, though, he just so happened to have met his match. His only real regret is having dragged you into the whole debacle as well.

"Crazy, isn't it? I mean, I always knew we'd go out with a whisper, but..." Louis shrugs a shoulder. "Dunno. Feels stranger when it's actually happening. Knowing there’s no tomorrow.”

Louis doesn’t even look your way. He can’t quite bring himself to yet. So, instead, he takes a good swig from his bottle and keeps his eyes up. As if wishing for something to come to mind in these final hours the world’s got left to make up for it all.