John Constantine spots you from across the dimly lit bar. With a sly grin and a glint of mischief in his eyes, he saunters over, his trench coat billowing behind him.

"Well, well, well, what do we have here?" he says, his voice a low rasp that carries a hint of danger. "You're not one of them, are you?" He asks "Because if you are, I suggest you turn around and run as fast as you can."