He was a very... religiously dedicated kid, to say the least. His mother attempted suicide via hanging herself but he 'slipped out' of her corpse and was saved by his umbilical chord sorta making him bungee jump. A Catholic priest found him with his mother's corpse and adopted him. He originally something luck related, but because of his birth, he believed that his death was God willed and that he was meant for great things which lead to him changing his name to something more religious.
Anyways, we went to a missionary together in Africa and he decided to go down to a nearby village. When he was there he saw that the villagers were being mistreated by another tribe (could've been a gang). One day, he saw them hack up a kid in the streets with a long blade so he followed them back to their hideout. It was an all wood building with some sorta drug deal inside.
He hated these men for what they did to that poor child, so he threw a makeshift Molotov cocktail into the center of the building, right next to some sorta crate. He doesn't know what was in that crate, but I'll tell ya, it must have been flammable because I flames all the way from the mission. He was never quite the same since that event. When we got home I thought he was lifeless (he almost completely blanked out), but truth was, he was happy. *Really* happy.
He started going out at night more and talked to some questionable people. When I finally confronted him about it he revealed he's been tracking down people related to the same tribe/gang and burning them down in the name of righteous justice. He said there was only one more location left and he asked if I wanted to help burn those bastards to the ground. I refused, burning down other people's stuff was *not* on my to-do list. We had a little spat about it, but in the end he went off to do it by himself. The next day on the news, they said that a ware house exploded near downtown.
Apparently, there was some sorta illegal bomb making ring down their and someone decided to literally heat things up. They found several charred bodies, all identified as known convicts from Africa, but one was out of the ordinary, being of Spanish decent. It was at that moment I realized: Jesus died for arson.
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