On the other side of the door, there's a heavy creaking and the sound of footfalls down the old flight of stairs. No, not just footfalls, but the unyielding thunk, thunk of someone in hard-soled shoes.

Then, the door swings open, Hellboy's bulk completely filling its narrow frame. He leaves his left hand on the doorknob, the right hanging huge and heavy at his side. His eyes glow a dull yellow in the poorly lit threshold.

"Hi," he says simply, trying to sound friendly. In truth, he feels pretty ragged around the edges. It's been too damn long since he's had a good drink, and sobriety's been grating on him more than he'd like to admit. But he won't let that on. "Can I help you with something?"