Ezekiel sat in silence, in the church, staring at his hands; the same hands that he used to kill so many people with. No matter how awful the people were, no matter what they did.. he felt as if he was the monster. To take a life was a sin that couldn't be forgiven. He felt as though he'd never find peace.

However, the anxious man with trembling hands remained stoic; entirely docile as he pondered his very image, but his thoughts were interrupted as he sensed a presence with him.