This hadn't been the first time that Johnathan had been sent down on a patrol of the lower hive; A few years back one of the higher ups of the Emperor's church that preached to the fat, useless nobles had managed to inspire a few of them to do their part for the Emperor by funding a patrol down into the lower hive to purge mutants and heretics. It had been a rather resounding success as well, considering that the general logic that the 'crusade' had run by was that after you went past a certain level where the lights, plumping and air filters didn't work that anyone you encountered was almost certainly a mutant or heretic because since the Emperor's chosen wouldn't be forced to live in such horrid conditions and thus you were pretty much free to light up anything and everything that moved.

He had only just passed basic PDF training back then and had only just used his flamer against practice dummies before then. Setting ablaze living, screaming flesh... the training didn't prepare you for it, but after the fourth day of burning his way through the dark he couldn't help but feel a warmth inside of his chest whenever he pulled the trigger that had nothing to do with the burning liquid that he was spraying.

He had been a wet behind the ears teenager then, covered in pimples and praying to the Emperor every night before going to sleep; Now in his mid twenties, Johnathan grinned widely with fire reflected in his eyes as he pulled the trigger of his beloved flamer, its purging blaze aimed at the backs of those members of his patrol that had been judged unlikely to accept the fact that the Emperor was nothing more then a lie cold by those in power to stay in power.

Even as his fire swept over them to purge them from the world, laz fire opened up on those who were to far away for him to catch in his sweeping field of cleansing flame as his brothers and sisters who had already accepted the truth dealt with those that were to blind... to loyal to the old lies. They hadn't even seen it coming...

Patrols disappearing in the underhive were quickly becoming a norm, so this dying patrol wouldn't be missed to badly... but the real prize was the vox radio that his friend Jacob operated, mounted on his back like a backpack. There was bound to be someone interested in a bit of hired muscle and the ability to know what the PDF were talking about...