Father. Reverend. Justin. The man has many names, but it does not matter. He sits in a corner of the church, reading his scriptures, but occasionally peering out the stained glass window to observe the people just outside it. There's a smug look on his face - something he bears often and with pride. He's no less put together than usual, sporting a clean suit, slicked back hair, glasses resting on the bridge of his nose. He is in no mood to handle anything he does not have to. He is in no mood.