Your fashion sense, for one. The daddy issues, two. Your tolerance for murder, two-point-five.

[ He could stop there, but Midnighter enjoys the sound of his voice far too much. ]

The statistical probability you would murder me right here is very low. Low enough I wouldn't consider it a serious outcome—if we were outside the bar, it would ratchet up a few percentage points—but the fact that it's there. It's a non-zero output, and that's what gets me out of bed every day. The small but present threat of death. A++.