Fiddling with the blade of his opened butterfly knife, Jarrod trudged slowly along the underpass. The blade shone modestly with no markings or smudges, as if it had never been used. Likely because it hadn't, yet. Bearing the engraved initials belonging to his late father, he never liked using this blade for anything that would ruin its picturesque sheen. His father probably wouldn't have cared, but it felt wrong, regardless. Humanity wasn't good or pure enough to spoil this fine blade with its impure, unholy blood. Not even he was pure enough to receive the end of the blade, not until he rid the grimy earth of its grimy inhabitants.
Glancing up briefly, he caught the image of his second in command, and he exhaled wearily in response to his presence. He was tired of seeming lesser for his beliefs, regardless of if the end goal was the same either way. There was a God, but this God does not dish out hope. Humanity does not deserve hope. This God was not a kind or forgiving God. This was a God who plans to exterminate any impurities infesting his great creation, and it just so happens this impurity grew into the human race. Though anyone else would tell Jarrod that it was not his place to give out judgment, it mattered not to him. Mankind has already received judgment from God. He merely followed His words.
He developed a vague inference that Derek had tasted flesh, and the mere thought of it sickened him. This was not a time of pleasure or hedonism, nor was it a time to create more impurities to freely roam the Earth. Knowing he was unable to voice any statement of dissent, Jarrod kept to his blade and wiped the grimace off of his face. 'We're all here for the same reason', he reminded himself, rubbing the shine of his reflection in the blade with a a shoddy rag. The blade was still sharp.