I watched with anxious excitement as the Trukk drove through the Stormboy camp. Hundreds of uniformed Orks stretched in a long line, waiting for inspection by their leader, whose hat looked like something from the napoleonic wars. Each was equipped with a Rokket pack, a Shoota, and a Choppa on their belt. They all looked reasonably similar in equipment and dress, a feat I thought beyond Orks. They were the closest thing to a proper military force I'd ever seen, beyond movies and video games, and boy, did they look good. There was just something about the formation that practically oozed competence and danger. And best of all, each would be acting as my personal bank accounts as I pulled every last tooth from their heads to afford my amazing, shiny creations. I drooled a little at the thought, seeing myself atop a mound of fabulous creations, whose deadly nature was rivaled only by their fabulousness.

  The Trukk passed the main camp, and entered a small cavern on the side, the sound of hammers and the smell of burning promethium providing a warm welcome. I was already feeling right at home. The Mek cave was a rather small affair, with two disparate workshops, one clearly devoted to the art of Rokketry, given the massive array of poorly maintained constructions that littered the yard, the other an all-rounder, providing guns, blades, and armor. The last item being of EXTREME interest to me, the sight of a massive hunk of metal and machinery in the vague form of a suit making me almost explode with envy.

  My ride stopped to a jarring halt, which almost sent me into the front seat, but I was quick enough to catch myself. I made a few grumbled complaints, but the size of my escort kept my mutters quiet. I hopped out of the vehicle to join said escort, who removed my incredible Rokket, and marched into the Rokket workshop. The place was crawling with goblins, running this way and that with bits and gubbinz, tools and half-finished projects. It was nearly impossible to distinguish the hard worker from the fake busy-bodies and the occasional thief, but several of the larger Grots could, as they were strutting about the yard, whacking any suspicious goblin with a hefty blow from crude metal truncheons. I was clearly dealing with a Mek who knew how to handle their servants.

  The Mek in question was a fairly small creature, a mere head taller than myself, but despite his size, he was covered in hefty armor that shrieked and hissed from the many pistons and pumps that adorned the self-propelled suit. Both arms were covered in a dozen varied tools, along with a claw hand just a quick flick away from being slipped into the forward position, and being made ready for combat. Yet another indicator that I was dealing with someone worth watching. Who knows, maybe I could learn a thing or two from him. It was likely I’d end up having to bash his skull in for control of the workshop, but that would have to come later, once I’d checked out his martial prowess for any weaknesses, and picked his mind for any and all useful tidbits.

  My escort called out a greeting to Hedsnagga, who waved in acknowledgement, but remained focused over his project. Curiosity being too strong to resist for long, I soon moved forward and around, eager for a closer look, while keeping out of reach of the Mek’s claws. The project was a strange amalgam of battery-like protrusions, tesla coils, and a massive button panel on the side. It had the makings of a rough metal harness, which looked like it was to be mounted on some other device. I went through a short list of possible uses, but came up dry, all my thoughts being of little concern to most Orks. What kind of Ork bothered with elaborate communication devices when shouting or a megaphone worked just fine? Sure, there was ship to ship and commander to unit comms, but the former would need to be much bigger, and the latter could be made a fifth the size. Then a small trickle of knowledge flowed through my thoughts, highlighting the utility and general concept behind Kustom Force Fields, a sort of energy field that protects against projectiles, but is relatively useless in melee.

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  The thought was as spontaneous as lightning, but for some reason I couldn't quite explain, it felt completely normal. And I wanted one. BAD. My fingers crumpled into fists as my hands shook, a powerful desire to attack the Ork and claim the equipment for myself burning inside me. It took a bit of self control to resist, which almost failed, until my more sensible bits reminded the rest that this particular Ork had a massive suit of armor, while I had nothing but my fists. This mostly worked, but once again, my schemes were quickly adjusted to add the force field to my list of coincidental acquisitions.

  The Mek slowly finished his work, which I eyed with almost painful amounts of scrutiny, which helped alleviate my severe lack of understanding of the specifics of said machine. Once the last rivet was in place, the Mek gestured for the me to approach. I did so with extreme caution, but the Ork merely lifted the force field generator, and handed it over. I picked it up with extreme reverence, as if I held a piece of God in my hands. Which wasn’t a completely inaccurate statement, but that is neither here nor there. The Mek grunted at me, pointing to a small pile of tools nearby, then turned, baring the back of his suit of armor. It took a bit for the implications to sink in, as enamored as I was with the creation, but when I finally understood, I wasn’t sure if I should feel insulted or greatly honored. So I went with both.

  I examined the back of the Mek’s armor, locating the protrusions that I now understood were to anchor the force field. I lined these up with those on the force field, then yelled at the local Grots to bring me the necessary tools. The well trained horde quickly lined up with all the instruments I needed, along with several more whose purpose I could guess at, but I lacked the deeper understandings to risk using them on such an important job. Important wasn’t quite the right word. It lacked the feeling of extreme pride I felt, along with the fear of failure and all too tempting desire to tamper slightly, to get back for the slight of being ordered around. Opting for safety over petty spite, I did my best to anchor the device, and after a few minutes of welding and riveting, the work was done.

  The Mek strutted over to a series of large, cracked mirrors shortly after I was finished, and examined my handiwork. The mirrors appeared to be angled in such a way that the Ork could see his back from multiple angles, though from my position, they were just a jumble of reflections. After a long, somewhat stressful wait, the Ork nodded in satisfaction, and gave me the Orkish equivalent of a smile and a nod, which amounted to him NOT making up an excuse to smack me. “You’z must be real pumped to be workin’ for dem Stormboyz, eh?” The question caught me off guard, and I answered with a bit too much honesty, explaining my extreme excitement at the career opportunity, which revealed more of my financial predicament than I would have liked. However, my enthusiasm seemed to light a spark in the Mek’s eye, who nodded thoughtfully, staring at my Rokket, which now lay propped against the metal shed, mixed in with the other, utterly rubbish Rokkets.

  “Dats fine work, dat is. But does it work?” I bristled at the implication, and strutted over to the Rokket, strapping on the harness without a hint of fear. With casual ease, I eyed the ceiling, judging how much space I had. It wasn’t much, but what was life, if you don’t take a few risks. I gunned the engine.

  My entire body shuddered as the engine roared to life, the ground vanishing in an instant. A heavy pressure pushed down on my shoulders as I rocketed into the air, smoky fire billowing out beneath me. But I wasn’t afraid. After all, I had built stabilized flight. I thumbed the stabilizing button with my thumb as I eyed the quickly approaching ceiling. I waited until the absolutely last moment before pressing the button. With a massive jerk, the engine roared even loader, putting on an extra burst of speed. Only in my last second of consciousness did I recall that the hover mode had been added to the Grot-sized Rokket, not the refurbished one. Then I crashed headfirst into the ceiling.