But I will die for my own sins – thanks a lot.
We'll rise up ourselves – thanks for nothing at all,
So up off the ground
Our forefathers are nothing but dust now.

- One Foot by Fun.

"These guys get it so easy." Jean muttered to himself, kicking a rock and accidentally launching it at the door of a car parked near by, "Pawning all their problems off on an imaginary figure and calling it divine retribution." He scoffed, "The sane have to live with their problems."

"I'm not so sure you have that right, sir." A voice said from behind him, freezing him mid action, "Forgive me if it's not my place to say so but it seems to me as though the... 'sane' drive themselves mad with their problems. It might be surprising to learn how comforting it is to let go of them. Even if the figure they're giving it to does turn out to be imaginary. That's not really the point of it. Faith is. Also, that term refers to punishment, not freedom. Perhaps it's divine intervention you're looking for?"

Jean turned to him stiffly, choosing to ignore his commentary but nodding an acknowledgment of his presence, "Father Bott." He said, voice tight.

"Wrong again, Mr. Kirschtein" He smiled, "I'm just a minister. Fathers are Catholic. Please, call me Marco."