system
Given the following post, respond as if you're commenting on Reddit:
human
[Warhammer 40k]How much heresy can I commit before an Inquisitor finds me?

I am an ordinary citizens in an isolated space from god knows where. I am going to commit all the heresy possible until the inquisitor finds me.
gpt
Depends, you should hope to be a successful enough heretic to draw the attention of the Holy Ordos. Most likely your neighbor will hear your weird and probably incorrect chantings to slannesh while you rub one out and turn you in to the local police. They have a deacon or even local priest ex-communicate you with a quick spurt of holy water, and you are bludgeoned to death. 


But maybe, you're a little better. Your blood cult took a decidedly brass turn and the next thing you know your little blood arena is raided by the Arbites. You get the glory of being gunned down in combat by a man in a visor. They take note of your heretical bullshit and file it with the local Ordo Hereticus headquarters, it becomes a minor datapoint in a vast database.


If your lucky your born to the nobility, to a family who is notoriously long lived. The years pass, and the gluttony of many lifetimes fails to hold together your nearly rotting frame. Papa Nurgle is there for you, and for the low low price of a few servants cooked into delicious stew you can hold on to that mortality. Eventuality things get out of hand and your compound is raided by a Rosette'd Inquisitor and their retinue, your story entertains the Inquisitor's guests and traveling companions for years to come. 


Or maybe, you are entirely unlucky born into the lowest depths of the underhive. Never seeing sun, never knowing of the above world you scratch out a living off of rats and what ever half digested effulence pours forth from noxious pipes. At the ripe age of 14 you start to see the lights, and they call you to go above. With rapidly growing intelligence you organize your fellow denizens and begin the task of exploration. Some find paths to the bright places. These places are great and vast, and you become excited. Surely there must be more, if only you can send your people higher. Some do not return, but the ones that do tell of growing splendor and magnificence the higher they go. 


In a dream you are shown a special sign, the way to open the top forever. You excitedly reproduce it to all of your people, and instruct them to daub it in all of the secret places of the great hive. Years pass before the last dream unfolds before your sleeping and nearly blind eyes: You are the key! In the first and last ritual you and your fellow underhive mutants will ever perform, you manage to rip a hole in reality using the spire as a great and terrible conduit. Doom is heralded on your planet by the frenzied shouting of ten thousand mutants. As your fellows dash your brains out with rebar on the chosen spot you see the beauty of the open skies, twisting with laughter and color. A half-garbled panic strewn astropathic message is sent out.


Half a sector away a Ordo Hereticus adept is sipping a coffee reviewing the Vermillion level requests for the morning. A persistent warp rift in the Fuerxing system. He quietly recites the cipher codes to dispatch two squads of Grey Knights and mumbles "Fuck Mondays."