He who covers his transgressions will not prosper, but whoever confesses and forsakes them will obtain mercy. (Proverbs 28:13)

"This is ridiculous," Tim Scam muttered under his breath, as his sea-foam eyes scanned the ornate woodwork and vivid hues of the stained-glass windows of the cathedral he was standing in. Letting out a tired sigh, he shook his head in disbelief. He simply couldn't understand why his prison psychologist, Dr. Lane, would have given him such an inane recommendation as this.

In all his life, confessing his sins was the least of what he had ever wanted. He had never been particularly religious: though his parents had been of Jewish heritage and believed in the existence of God, they erred more on the side of being culturally Jewish rather than keeping the numerous rituals that their faith entailed. But none of this had really mattered to him, since they had passed away suddenly in a car accident when he was a child. Thrust into the unwilling arms of an ill-tempered, abusive uncle, Scam had grown up in a world that showed him no love, trust, or mercy – a world that he himself had come to mirror. His experiences had trained him to believe that in any circumstance, the only thing that remained constant was himself, and himself alone.

Brushing off these unpleasant thoughts, he reached into his pocket and produced a small slip of paper, upon which Dr. Lane had written the obligatory lines to recite in order to make a proper confession. In truth, it all came across as nonsense to him – why had they ever thought tacking on these seemingly meaningless lines would actually make a difference? Still, for the sake of politeness, and knowing he was still wearing a tracker from the WOOHP prison while being closely monitored by Dr. Lane back in the holding facility, he decided he could live with it.

The confessional booth stood a mere few feet away. It was now empty, and the dimly lit interior showed the outline of a priest sitting at the opposite side. "Might as well get this over with quickly," Scam told himself, as he took a deep breath and stepped in.

The interior of the booth felt very cramped, especially for a man of his size, which only made him grumpier. "How am I supposed to properly confess when I can't even fit in here?" he wondered aloud in annoyance, trying unsuccessfully to make the door close all the way.

"Child, is everything all right?" came the priest's startled voice from the other end.

Scam sighed again and reluctantly decided to leave the door slightly ajar. This was clearly not getting off to a good start. He cleared his throat in embarrassment and closed his eyes, opening one of them once in a while to sneak a quick peek at his lines.

"In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit…" he began in a bored and careless tone, drawing a haphazard cross over his chest that really looked more like a triangle, "my last confession was… er… I mean, I have never before confessed any of my sins in my life."

He said the last sentence with a cocky grin, clearly proud of the fact, before going on. "The following are my sins: murder of a few dozen, capturing people for ransom, personally designing weapons with the intent of destruction, theft and misuse of weaponry for personal benefit, participating in criminal organization, and brainwashing others into submission." Reaching the end of his list, which he had memorized from his own criminal records, Scam figured that the priest at the other end of the wall was scared out of his wits by this point. That was good. He preyed on others' fear, after all.

Looking down again at his notes to see what the next line was, just so he could end this pointless ceremony as soon as possible, his eyes widened when he noticed an addendum in the shrink's handwriting that he hadn't seen before: "A proper and thorough confession includes examining all elements of one's conscience. This does not just include actions, but also thoughts and especially desire for others."

Not wanting to think about the first thing that came to his mind at that last statement, Scam closed his eyes again, this time in agony, while his heart rate sped up significantly. For the very first time in a long time, he felt guilty to his very core – and he didn't like it one bit.

"I…" he faltered, swallowing nervously at the prospect of having to confess this mortal sin as well, "I also have… I have had improper thoughts about a woman whom I do not allow myself to love."

Meanwhile, on the other side of the confessional booth, the priest sat in stunned silence. This was by far the vilest sinner he had ever heard, and he did not doubt that he was in the presence of a man who was probably one of the worst criminals to ever walk the face of the planet. Yet what had caused the abrupt change in his attitude just now?

"Some part of me cannot bring myself to love her, yet the other part does," Scam's tense, now strangely quiet voice cut in. "She is everything I ever wanted. The only thing keeping us apart is the fact that she works for an organization on which I have sworn revenge." At this point, he was sweating profusely under the emotional burden of having let his deepest secret off his chest after many years.

"I hate Jerry," he uttered through clenched teeth. "I utterly despise him for making things so, for painting me as the villain, for preventing me from…" His voice started to crack. Breathing in deeply to momentarily gather his thoughts, which were sounding less and less like the cold, hard persona he had worked to build over the years, he couldn't deny that perhaps there was something to this whole confession thing after all.

"It wasn't my fault," he insisted painfully, after several seconds ticked past. "It was never my fault. I never intended to get myself into this mess. It started from a misunderstanding and spiraled downward from there. I was shunned by the very place I had once worked so hard for. Most of all, I was shunned by… by her." By this point, Scam had crumpled up the paper in his hand, squeezing it every now and then as he used it as a stress ball. He could hardly care for proper confession etiquette or phony guidelines now. Lifting his anguished sea-foam gaze to meet that of the priest, even though he couldn't see him very well, he decided to finally let out the name of the object of his desire.

"I wish I could say I am happy with where I am now, but I'm not. Sometimes I really wish I didn't just have myself to depend on. Father, I love Samantha Simpson, and I hate myself every day for it."

Another uncomfortable pause ensued. The priest remained frozen in his place, shocked after listening to the condemned man confess the key thing that had finally caused him to unravel. Then Scam's voice, this time with a meeker tone, interrupted the priest's thoughts.

"Forgive me, father, for I have sinned."

Never having dealt with a similar situation before in all his years of service, the priest could only nod in stunned silence as he turned to read the words of absolution to officially conclude the confession, while Scam merely hung his head with eyes closed.

"God, the Father of mercies, through the death and resurrection of His Son, has reconciled the world to Himself and sent the Holy Spirit among us for the forgiveness of sins. Through the ministry of the Church, may God give you pardon and peace, and I absolve you from your sins in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit."

"Thank you," were the last two words out of Scam's mouth, before he turned and solemnly exited the confessional booth. As he left the cathedral in a newfound contemplative mood, he didn't notice the redheaded, emerald-eyed girl who stared after him in horror and disbelief.

Was that Tim Scam? More importantly, had she really just heard him saying her name while in the confessional booth?

She was going to have to get some answers.