The large black steam engine heaved a large sigh and pulled to a stop in New York's Grand Central Station. Angela drummed her fingers on the railing, waiting for the other passengers to file off the train. She strained to peer over the shoulders of the man in front of her, in the hope of seeing the line actually move. Slowly, the passengers lurched off the train. Angela smiled and breathed in deeply as she reached fresh air. But all she was greeted with were the foul smells of the rotting city and a cold, gray sleet.

"Hey, Ange, could we speed it up? I'm not getting any younger here," Johnny said, interrupting Angela's thoughts.

"Sorry," Angela rolled her eyes and stepped onto the pavement.

"Nice day," Johnny observed, glancing around.

"Lovely."

"Hey, isn't this one of those...those whatchamacallits-" Johnny frowned, and gestured with his hand, trying to remember. Angela glared at him.

"A sign. It's a sign," she said dryly.