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The convoy navigated its way through the canyons of the planet, massive battle wagons bristling with weaponry, each carrying several dozen green-skinned brutes. Behind these trailed multi-wheeler trucks with huge load-bearing beds, overflowing with a dozen of the beasts as well, their enthusiasm the only thing keeping them from flying from the tight turns and relentless acceleration. Ahead, behind and around the larger vehicles rode an assortment of bikes and buggies. Whatever their size, all members of the procession were ramshackle, crafted from slabs of steel, held together by thick rivets—and possibly some supernatural force, given the absurdity of their engineering.
Responsibility for the upkeep of the convoy fell to the renowned Mek Muzgash Gutwrench, who had been putting or keeping things together for Boss Grimtoof for as long as he could remember (which, admittedly, wasn’t long). He could not explain why he was able to make things work, and in fact, ruminating on it too long tended to cause headaches. He was no philosopher; he was a simple creature who loved going fast and making things explode. As it so happened, he was inherently and immensely talented at inventing functional engines, assembling rivet guns, even creating firearms from little more than scrap. He had made a reputation and earned the favor of the Boss himself, but at the moment, Muzgash felt that good will slipping through his fat fingers.
“Wus da problem, boss?”
Muzgash looked down at the grot at his feet. Diminutive and craven, the little blighters were never in short supply, but of dubious value. This one was called Dink.
“If I knew dat, Dink, dere wouldn't be a problem, innit?”
Dink considered the weapon on the bed of the truck. It was indubitably a high-caliber, fully automatic firearm, and—as was the case with most Ork weaponry—loud, big, and rapid-firing. It was extensively modified: barrels, scopes, and ammo belts were all crammed in or fastened to it. Shiny bits added a hefty amount of decorative charm.
“More dakka, boss?” Dink ventured.
Muzgash groaned and plucked up Dink from around his skinny neck. Annoyed, he tossed the grot out of the truck and into a passing rock formation.
Naturally Muzgash had thought of adding more dakka. He had also tried making it shootier and blastier, but to no reward. The snazz-gun was meant for Boss Grimtoof himself, but as of now, it was an ugly embarrassment, a source of endless frustration.
He noticed something move in one of the barrels. He snatched at it, but it squirreled away. It took some fishing with his meaty digits, but he pulled it out: a tiny green humanoid with protruding ears, a grot in miniature. It was a snotling, and they occupied the lowest rung of society. As such, Muzgash felt only relief when he popped the snotling inside his clenched fist, then wiped his hand clean on his trousers.
“That'll fix it! an' I just got an idea: an upgrade dat shoots snotlings!”
