Harkin snarled as he watched the giant sewer rat roast above the crude fire, the smell of cooking, no-doubt toxic flesh filling the empty socket where his nose had once been. The other four gathered with him were salivating at the prospect of fresh meat, even if it was liable to make their guts burn and their bodies quiver for hours after. Just having something in their stomach would be worth the price paid. The nearly skeletal mutant drew his knife when he was satisfied the meat was seered to his tastes, carving off hunks of flesh and muscle for the gathered wretches. Two more joined them a moment later; a pair of orphan boys driven down into the sewer by desperation. They were tolerated, as they could steal far easier than any of the abominations dwelling in the Underhive. He gave another short growl as he eyed them, the cybernetic left reading off their vitals to him. Malnurished and sickly, to none's surprise. He threw the pair of boys a hunk of meat, which they set apon as greedily as the mutants. 

"Will not be here much longer, brothers." He hissed in a decidedly unnatural voice; it brought up images of rusty nails and dry snake skin to the boys as they listened to him. He tore off a chunk of rat, chewing messily before he spoke again, the others' attention focused totally on him now. "He tells us to wait only short time longer. Have guns and knives and pipes and axes ready. When word comes, we go, we kill, slay for the gods."

This was met with growls and grunts of approval, the wretches visibly excited at the promise his words held. All had been oppressed and forced to live as animals by the Overworlders, and all would be more than happy to take their revenge in blood, fire and depravity. Harkin himself had several ideas rolling around in that partially-exposed skull of his, and it would have made him grin if he still had lips enough for the expression. He'd started a collection of skulls recently, from the rare occasions he'd been able to catch one of the Overworlders alone after one of his shifts at the chemworks. He had six now, most of them gangsters, along with another worker and a streetwalker. The streetwalker he'd doubly pleased the gods with; Khorne and Slaanesh smiled on him that night.

That collection would surely grow soon, if the words of the preacher were true. Yes, he would take many skulls in the time to come. The gods would smile on him and his fellows, and they would know freedom and glory. He looked down at the knife in his hand, bits of roasted meat still clinging to the blade.

"For the gods, shall be ready."