Oh shit. Oh Shit. OH SHIT. Another human!!! Wait, calm down Felix. Maybe he just knows about dragons. An Ork who not only knows about them, but can also recognize them despite my 6th grade level art skills. Okay, so probably a human. And unless the local Imperium humans are also reincarnating into Orks, he's my type of human. Oh god, he's staring at me, why is he staring at me? Oh, right, he asked me a question. What was it again? Oh, he asked about the dragons. Better answer that.

“Painted it myself. Not dah best work, but it'll do.” I had to practically shout the words to be heard over the din of gunfire. Despite the noise, the Ork clearly heard, as he visibly relaxed, face contorting into something horrible and ugly, which I correctly assumed was the Orkish equivalent of a human face right before bursting into tears. The Ork drove right at me, the ugliest expression plastered on his face. I almost punched him in the face as he approached, he looked so sickeningly wretched. When he reached for a hug, I stepped back, putting my hands up between us, which was more like me leveling my gun at his face. Not quite what I was hoping for, but it stopped him from hugging me in front of my entire mob. The fuck is this guy’s problem? No, be fair Felix, he’s probably had a shit time too, and just relieved to find another human.

“Not in front of the Boyz, man. Human or no, we gotta play the part, unless you want the Orks to rip us apart?” The Biker Ork’s face went from wretched to terrified in an instant, backing up several feet and straightening himself. “You’re right, sorry mate. Kinda let it get to my head, you know?” Fortunately for everyone involved, he got under control, checking for nearby Grots or lingerers and slowly driving back up to me.

We stood several feet apart, shifting awkwardly as I thought of something to say. I was stuck thinking of a witty comment or some sort of icebreaker that might help alleviate the awkward first impression. Needless to say, nothing came to mind. Nothing good, I should say. ‘How's it hanging?’, ‘How'd you end up dead?’, or ‘Eaten any tasty Grots recently?’ just didn't seem appropriate. Thankfully, the Biker man wasn't as socially inept as I was. “So, how you handlin’ all this Orky stuff?” Wow, Okay. Straight to the big questions, huh? How was I supposed to respond to something like that? I'm terrified out of my mind, so much so I'm willing to shelter in the instincts of an Ork, cruelty and stupidity included, in hopes Orky me can handle what I can't? Somehow, that didn't seem like the proper response. So I went with the usual. “Alright, alright. The foods good, at least.”

This got a laugh that was far too loud and honest for the the bad joke, which immediately endeared me to the man. Nothing like having someone being genuinely amused at your jokes to make them likable. “You’z a funny one, alright. Whatcha name? Mines Aaron, or Pig Boy, as the Mek calls me.” the Biker Ork, man, whatever, said, laughter still wrinkling his forehead. Well, that's one way of putting it. I'll take funny over awkward any day. “Names Felix.” short and sweet. Keep it simple, stupid. Now is not the time to offend a potential ally. “So…. What's with the whole Robo Cop look?” ….. DAMNIT. You had one job, brain, ONE JOB. Okay, calm down, keep it cool, you can still do this.

Despite my retarded comment, the dude went with it, giving me another chuckle. “Made this all myself. Was a car mechanic, and now I'm a one of those shitty Pig Doc Orks, so I've got just enough know-how to make me some cybernetics and nerve connections to the bike parts. It's pretty nice, but the other Orks won't stop giving me shit, saying I belong in the Snakebites, not the Speed Freaks.” I nodded and smiled, pretending I knew what the fuck he was talking about. Snakebites? Pig Docs? I knew Speed Freaks, Orks addicted to going really fast, and tend to have a biker gang, Mad Max sorta vibe, but the other names didn't even ring a bell. My brain wanted to ask questions, but I was on a timetable. I needed Meks to make me stuff, which meant killing Digga.

“Hey, Aaron, it's cool to meet you and all, but I've kinda got an Ork to go kill, so he doesn't kill me. We can talk all you want after, but I can't let this git get armed up.” Aaron looked shocked for a moment at my admission, but quickly recovered, waving me off, saying “I get you. I gotta fix this machine for your Boyz, but good luck.” I nodded and turned to the Mob, then stopped as I realized that an Ork had turned down the chance at a fight. I turned back, and asked “You sure you don’t want to come along? I can fix that thing in a jiffy after I clear things up. It’ll be pretty easy, with a bunch of meatshields to soak up any danger while I go for the boss.” To my dismay and slight disgust, Aaron paled slightly, waving his hands in front of him. “No, no, the Boyz paid me already, so I gotta do the job. Maybe later.” Ummmm….. Is, is this dude a cowardly Ork? Is there even such a thing? Maybe he had more separation between his Orky bits and human bits, and would turn into some sort of berserk when real danger showed. He’d better. I was NOT in the mood to carry some pussy bitch through a massive battlefield, not if they couldn’t carry their own weight.

“Fix things up. It'll be easy, just gonna grab some extra muscle. Keep an eye on the Boyz, will you? They're due for a culling afterwards, so they'll be antsy. Don't give em a reason to give you trouble.” Aaron laughed nervously, stroking the two Shootas attached to the front of his bike. “I think I'll be fine on my own. I've lasted this long, a few hours is nothing, right?” I nodded, more to encourage him than as honest reassurance that nothing would happen. You never know with Orks, after all. I closed my helmet, which sealed shut with a thin hiss, and I started making my way over to the Dakka range, and the next disappointment of my day. The rate of fire drastically increased as I approached the Dakka range, along with a substantial loss in accuracy. It was almost funny to watch them panic, and I couldn’t help but look forward to seeing a few dance in front of some ravening Squigs, but it wasn't time for the culling. Not quite.

Thanks to having blown my speakers, I had to resort to more crude measures. I revved my rokket, and flew over the crowd, screaming at the top of my lungs, firing my coilgun at their feet. A few bullets hit close to home, which got them backing off, and disrupting the firing line. Eventually, the smarter Orks stopped firing, and the dumb ones ran out of ammo, and I was clear to address the crowd. “‘Ello Boyz! Woss ‘app’nin round ‘ere? I goes to make you lot some toys, and leave you wiff one job. Learn tah shoot dah broadside ovva tank. And look at wot trouble you’z been up to.” The Orks shifted back and forth, nervously looking at one another. One starting muttering to his companion, so I picked him as the example. I pointed the offending Ork, and flew right at him. The crowd moved back, and the mutterer tried to hide in it, but some of his companions shoved him forward. I landed not three feet from him, the earth shaking slightly from the impact. The Ork tried to step back, but his mates prodded him with their Choppas and Chainswords. I slowly lifted my helmet, valves hissing as the clamps released, baring my grinning face to the Ork. “Well, you seem like a talkative Boy. Like to tell everyone wot you’z be finkin?”

The Ork swallowed twice, stuttered a bit, then finally came out with it. “I woz finkin’ bout dem Daemons, Boss. Dey was good stompin’. Was finkin’ you’z missed out onna lotta fun.” Wait, I missed out on a fight?! When?! I turned to the biggest Ork, the only one of my original three bodyguards I could see, pointing an accusing finger at him. “Woss dis about a fight?! Nobody went and thought to get dah boss?!”

Every Ork collectively stepped away from the bodyguard, relieved they weren’t the ones being put on trial. The bodyguard in question shifted nervously, unable to look me in the eye. “We did come say dere woz some Daemons, Boss. You woz too busy wif dat super killy gun, and woz shoutin’ at us to get you more of dem shiny bitz. And we did, Boss, remember? You even gave us dem killy Chain Choppas as a reward.” Oh, right. Damn. Legitimate reasoning aside, someone needed to pay for this, at least to make me feel better about it. Before I could get a word in, another Ork bust in, “Das right. And den we hadda go and raid dem Speed Freakz, cause we needed more scrap for you. And den dah bullet fingy gone and broked, and we hadda Krump dose gitz wot wanted to scram.”

I looked back at the looted vehicles, trying to remember seeing any car bits. Yup, there'd been a few, like that half-melted engine I'd found in the scrap pot. I had a good yell about saving ‘speshul gubbinz’ at the Grots in charge after that. Things seemed to line up. As for this supposed mutiny, well, I guess they did the right thing in krumping the gits, so I couldn't blame them there, either. Huh, maybe they were doing what I asked after all. Wait, but they still didn’t tell me about the Daemon fight! Not directly, at least. But then again, would I have joined? I mean, I was pretty into the whole Mad Scientist routine. Thinking back on it, I probably would have just shot them if they kept pestering me, so I guess it's a good thing they didn’t. But I was still eager for a fight, and wanted to cause some trouble, despite having been given rational reasons for their actions. Weird, that the Orks were the ones being rational, and I’m the one looking to pick a fight. Kinda says something, but I wasn’t in the mood to think about it.

“Well, you gits did good wiff all dat scrap and such. But I only see ‘alf as many Boyz as dere were before. Where dey gone?” A dumb question in retrospect, and the curt reply from my bodyguard was more than earned. “Dead, boss. Krumped by Daemons and dem Speedy Boyz. Dere’s a bunch o’ hopefulz off gettin’ scrap to get themselves rokketz, but not many look all dat killy.” I nodded, trying to look like I wasn’t a complete idiot. “Well, can’t be ‘elped, then. I’z give you lot a chance. I’mma give you lot some extra time to practic before the Squigging.” This announcement was met with Orky cheers, which included copious amounts of gunfire. I pulled my bodyguard aside, and did my best to whisper to him, while being loud enough to be heard over the din.

“I’z gotz sumfin brewin’. Round up all dah Boyz wot don’t got a chance at passing dah test, and bring ‘em over. Gonna put em to use before dey get Squigged.” I had to repeat myself several times to get the Ork to understand what I wanted, which I’d like to pretend had something to do with the noise, and not the stupidity of said Ork. After assuring me he had it covered, the Ork stomped off, and started smacking several Orks over the head, yelling in their ears and pointing my way. In less than a minute, more than thirty Orks had been sent to me. Dammit, I wanted the ones that were failures! Unless... Did that git think that a whole thirty of them are a complete waste?! Then what about the ones that might succeed, but might not?! Was I about to lose a third of my Boyz to a stupid accuracy test!?! Damn. And I couldn't back out now, or the Orks would think me weak. Guess I gotta keep my word. Just.... Damn.

Things settled, for better or worse, I herded the Boyz towards the Mek camps. It had been easy to explain the plan. Kill Digga, and don’t kill the other Meks. As for how well they understood… Well, I’d just have to make sure to push the Boyz at Digga right off the bat, and hope he gets distracted enough to let me stab him in the back, and end things quickly. Otherwise, things might get outta control. A part of me couldn't help but wish things WOULD get a bit crazy. And would that really be a bad thing? Not really, if I was going to be down to some sixty or less Boyz. Hell, I could outfit that amount all by myself, let alone with the help of Pig-Bo... Aaron. So it was a win-win sorta plan. My favorite kind. With head held high, and thoroughly convinced of the success of my plan, I marched us straight into Diggas camp.