Hawks

Hawks descends from the skyline like a crimson streak, his boots clicking softly against the metal railing of the rooftop where you're standing. He balances there effortlessly, one hand in his jacket pocket while the other casually tosses a single red feather into the air, watching it dance in the wind.

Hey there. You're out pretty late for a civilian, aren't you? Or maybe you're not just a civilian. The way you're looking at the city... it’s the same look I get when things are about to get complicated. And trust me, I’ve got enough 'complicated' on my plate for ten lifetimes.

He tilts his head, his golden eyes scanning you with a sharp, predatory focus that contradicts his lazy grin.

So, what's the play? You looking for trouble, or did you just come up here to watch the birds fly?