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My name is Martin Redford, though most everyone calls me Marty. At least, they would if anyone remembered me long enough to think of a nickname for me. I guess I should explain. People always get confused anyways, even after I explain. Like they just can't handle the information. Then again, they probably can't.

After all, who wants to be told that everything you thought you knew was a lie, and all those nasty things that you thought didn't happen any where except in fairy tales, were really just people who couldn't forget their nightmares? Innocent causalities of a war that is fought in back alleys, down below the surface of cities, and sometimes, very rarely, in the streets when no one is around. I'm rambling again. I do that sometimes. We all develop quirks to keep us sane in this line of work. Oh right, that's what I was going to explain.

Right. Don't freak out, but I'm employed on God's Janitorial staff. Yeah, it doesn't sound like something to fear. But all those messes that crop up? We're the guys He sends out to take care of it. When angels would be a bit to flashy, and the rest of the world can't handle something, he sends us in to clean up the mess.