>Final Salvation of the Emperor?
Give me time to elaborate guardsman, or you will be cutting your interview short. Look, to put it simply, his job requires him to kill his brethren. We, as you know, are the exemplars of purity. Perfect, paradisiac, flawless, untarnished. We are, as the Adeptus Mechanicus willed us, closer to the Emperor in nature than any other marine chapter. Our reputation is unblemished. But for a reason. Our First Company Captain is charged with the task of erasing any blemishes that choose to rear their ugly head. First and foremost, within the enemy. And secondly, within ourselves. Should a member of our ranks, show less then unmitigated perfection, we are to be purged.
Yes. Killed. Missing in Action. Eradicated. Of course we take a rather ceremonial route at times. Those of us who have earned honours, have ritual of sorts. In symbolic nature, we are cremated while mimicking our father. Seated on a small chair of gold. Accepting this final gout of pain, so that we may join him in rapture. For those who have yet to earn honours, or are psykers, their fate is swift, and on the battlefield. Dabbling within the realm of the Warp is a dangerous task. Sometimes psykers burn out, sometimes the Warp grabs a hold. To us, that level of infection, is like a cardinal sin. Respect may be due, but one has to remember, that even registering as psyker, by nature, is imperfect, a stain on our white armour.