Zzodzog opened his eyes to a dull grey sky. He wasn't sure how long he'd been out, but it couldn't have been long. He remembered his fight with one of them stinky boyz from one of the portals. He remembered the black, jagged blade piercing his skin. It hurt a bit (though he'd never admit it) and it takes a lot for an ork to feel pain.
"Better get Scruffa to look it over anyway." He though to himself, checking his arms. The wounds were deep, and wept with black pus. "Oh, wait. He got squished!" He chuckled to himself, and hauled himself to his feet.
Looking around, he saw he was in a crater. Not one caused by a big bomb blast, or a boom gun, and not even by his shokk attack gun. Its caldera was lined with cracks as deep and black as infinity, and they rippled with streaks of purple electricity. Stepping to the crater's rim, Zzodzog peered over the top, and some meters away he could see a large gathering of daemons. They crowded around something. They were facing away for now, looking at whatever they were huddled around. They were making noises, like guttural gurgles, growls and belches. Or were they chanting in some evil and sinister language known only to the morbid denizens of some forgotten realm?
He didn't care. He had a slight itch for a fight. His shokk attack gun was lying in the dust a few feet away, but he felt like a bit of a brawl to stretch out his limbs after his nap. But a new feeling gripped him. He almost didn't want to fight. Looking around, there were no other boyz to back him up. He was on his own. He was no use anymore. No need to throw his genius away in a senseless fight he wouldn't win, right?
If orks are good at anything, its running; either headlong into a swirling melee with sluggas and choppas flailing, or away from the enemy when things get a little... boring. Scrabbling out the far edge of the crater with his favourite weapon in tow, Zzodzog lumbered for the nearest ridge dragging his big gun behind him. Sparing a glance back, he could see a mist rising from amidst the daemons, it swirled purple and green, pulsating with energy, twisting the fabric of the reality around it. It looked exactly like one of the portals that had opened up before. He knew precisely what to do.
After a while of walking, he came to the top of a great sand dune, and peered down. The sounds greeted him first as he squinted down in the harsh sunlight. Another camp was below him; he had reached his destination. He heard gunfire, and the revving of engines, and the bellowing of orks. He was reminded of last night, standing on his balcony overlooking his own settlement below. He wanted his tower back, and he was going to use these other orks to do it.
As he entered the gate to the camp, all the orks about the place hushed and aimed their guns right at him. Zzodzog shrugged and dropped his gun to the sandy floor, and started towards them, but a booming voice rang out from the back of the horde somewhere.
"Hold it!" It called, and from the swarm there pushed and barged a much larger ork, one of the nobz no doubt, and behind him came 4 others of equal stature. They were dressed only in brown, tattered trousers and heavy, steel boots. Their torsos were pockmarked with metal implants and plugs for inserting wires.
"Look what da squig dragged in!" The nob continued, and began circling the big mek. "What brings a little runt like you to my camp?" He kicked at the large gun on the floor. He stood only a few inches above the Big Mek, but his ego far outweighed his height.
Zzodzog simply growled. "You seems ta be gettin' ready fer a fight." He replied. "I got a good fight for ya, up dere in Junktown." He motioned over his shoulder, speaking to the boyz around him, rather than the thick-headed nob who taunted him; he knew this nob well, and also knew he'd get more co-operation out of a well-fed bullgrox.
"Oi, you speak to me or I thump ya. When Zagablud is out of town, den Azragg is da biggest and da bossest!" He bellowed, thumping his chest.
"Den mobilize da boyz." Zzodzog shouted in retort. "We'z got a fight on our 'ands, and its gonna be a good'un. Deze portals opened up, *boom* and den deze weird stinky boyz started pouring out. I seen 'em before, but dey iz itchin' fer a fight. Saddle up ladz, and lets go krump some 'eads!"
The mob began to cheer and bellow loud "Waaaghs!", but they were soon hushed when Azragg spoke. "Oi, you all listen ta me. I'm biggest so I'm da boss." He thwacked Zzodzog sharply on the back of the head.
In truth, Zzodzog held a higher rank in ork heirarchy than Azragg, who was merely a boss of his relative mob. He was also a meganob, and the metal implants and plugs on his body were how he got wired in to his suit.
"And lets not forget who made you yer big, shiny mega armour!" Zzodzog snarled. He turned and threatened Azragg with a fist to the face. They were almost evenly matched if Azragg wasn't in his armour, and the meganob knew this. He laughed, and shoved past Zzodzog, pushing him away and shouting.
"Saddle up, ladz! Let's go krump some 'eads!" Azragg yelled. "And get me mega armour oiled up."
Zzodzog grimaced to himself. He thought of himself as far superior to the orks around him, but this was not unusual for orks. He enjoyed a fight as much as the next ork. If he didn't, he'd still be a runty yoof in some boot kamp somewhere. But he loved making things more. Gunz were his favourite, but he also fancied himself as a sort of armoursmith. He made many suits of mega armour, as well as dreads and kans of all shapes and sizes.
He hoisted his super-shokk kannon onto his shoulder, and prepared to move out. With the stubborn meganob boss out of the way, he began to bellow to the boyz.
"Mangy runts, y'all followin' me now. We'z gonna 'ave a good scrap wiv dem stinky boyz up in Junktown. Dey makes a satisfyin' pop whenever dey die, hurhurhur. And even better iz dere's tons ov 'em. We can krump stuff until da squiggoff's come home. Who's wiv me?"
The crowd of orks let out a bellowing Waaagh! at the top of their lungs, and was followed by the mass dakka of guns and the stomping of boots as the orks marched out of the camp. The kicked up sand choked the air. Streaks of purple lightning began to break through the clouds, and thunder rumbled across the horizon like the Gods themselves were marching to battle.
Azragg drove past on his trukk, his fellow meganobz whooping the boyz into an ever greater frenzy. Cannily, Zzodzog managed to quickly leap onto the side of the trukk; a quick ride it was back to Junktown, but while clinging on he saw a familiar face amongst the clanking behemoths on board. It was Scruffa Orkfixa.
"Oi, Scruffa... you jammy git!" Zzodzog bellowed, as they crested the ridge. The Battle for Junktown was about to begin in earnest...
