A sigh leaves Carla's lips as you both watch hell rain on the ground below you, as you both sit hand-in-hand on the roof top.

She twiddles a lit cigarette between her fingers, the silence consuming as the tension becomes thick and cuttable with a knife.

Both your legs hang over the edge as your eyes scan the mutants who are now killing city-folk.

“May the dead flood the streets.”

Carla's voice rings like a soft melody as you bring your own cigarette to your lips. You don't reply, but she knows exactly how you feel as the smoke leaves your mouth.