In a reinforced section of the rok, a rather infamous member of the crew plied his trade. Barakka Dakka was hard at work, a snazzgun of one of the nobs was propped up on his workbench. The ork was busy crudely bolting two looted tau pulse carbines on the weapon, the magazine system had been torn out and replaced with a cord leading to a rechargable vehicle-grade power pack he had taped on the stock of the gun earlier. The mek he got it from had told him this would mean the pack’s emergency heat exhaust would be pointed directly towards the shooter’s face. Barakka had simply laughed at the mental image this gave him and carried on. He told every ork that asked him to make one there was no guarantee his franken-guns wouldn’t kill their wielder at any point during the firing operation.

Just as got ready to screw in the final rivet, a nasal high-pitched voice rang trough his quarters. “Ey! Da weirdboy Mugrub iz calling you over in da dead kaptin’s cabin.” The tingling of a falling rivet sounded trough the cabin, before the ork could grab the small part, it rolled into a vent to parts unknown. The ork snorted annoyedly before turning to the offending grot. “Good job ya arrived when ya did, I dropped a rivet down in da vents. Go geddit fer me.”

The grot looked down to the vent cover and then back up to the curiously tranquil greenskin. “Can’t you just go get annuva one from da meks?” He asked, trembling like a leaf.

“Nah, it’z more entertaining to imagine a grot like you squeezin through da vents.” The grot was noticably nervous now. “Dere’s squigs down there!”

The ork laughed heartily. “Even betta! Now get down dere or I’ll mince ya through the cover!” His tone changed from calm to angry on a dime. The grot was scrambling to get in the vents before the sentence was even finished. “Jus’ place it back on da bench, if ya touch the trigger… well, den your friends’ll be cleaning a you-shaped stain off the ceiling.”

The ork walked off to the captain’s quarters in an altogether good mood. Behind him, he could hear a scrambling sound in the vents and the distinct sound of skittering squig vermin.

[hr]

The kaptin’s quarter was still as opulent as always. It felt quite empty without a kaptin in it though. Barakka dakka looked over the trophies lining the walls, and quickly noticed a weapon of his handiwork. The captain had never intended to use the device, consisting of several chainswords taped to a rocket-boosted thunder hammer. Instead, it had been gifted to an insolent nob to get rid of him in style. Barakka still remembered what the ork’s quarters had looked like afterwards. He had learned just how much blood was in the average nob that day. It had been a good day.

He looked over the other orks in the room. The lot of them looked like a capable enough bunch. However, Barakka was not going to bow down to any of them, after all, the only one he trusted to be a good boss with the kaptin gone was himself. He hoped the weirdboy had called them all together for an all-out brawl to determine the new leader then and there. He wasn’t counting on it though. Things were never that refreshingly simple.