Clang! Clang!
The rhythmic pounding of a hydraulic press filled the air. It came from a figure whose body was roughly 80% covered by a complex array of mechanical devices. These contraptions encased its arms, torso, and legs, while its eyes were shielded by a multi-lens goggles system and its mouth by a heavy-duty respirator.
The massive backpack on its rear featured two telescopic hydraulic power arms—one a heavy-duty cutting claw and the other a lifting crane, both controlled by a single joystick interface.
Judging by the patches of olive-green skin visible through the gaps, this was an Ork. However, such high-tech gear was a luxury that even ordinary Mekboyz could only dream of.
Clearly, this was a Big Mek—the kind coveted by Warbosses across the galaxy. Their presence alone meant an endless supply of terrifying war machines, high social standing, and an inexhaustible supply of "gubbinz." No Mekboy could resist a mountain of scrap metal and junk.
This high-tech Ork was Kenmyo Isayama. His current appearance was a far cry from his unarmored state in his private room. He had used the materials left by the previous (deceased) Big Mek and his current host's own stash to assemble a suit of mechanical mega-armor. He looked exceptionally menacing.
Each [Simulation] didn't throw Kenmyo into battle immediately; instead, it provided a buffer period to adapt to the body and its existing identity.
"It really is just a pile of junk."
Kenmyo let out a sigh of exasperation as he looked at the metal behemoth before him. He was currently in the main engine room of the starship.
The air here was stiflingly hot and foul. Fortunately, his power armor provided cooling, and the respirator filtered out the toxic gases—essential for Kenmyo's sanity. Orks didn't have a concept of hygiene, and the stench in the air was truly indescribable.
The massive machine vibrating before him, which bore a weathered Imperial Aquila on its upper casing and chugged like an old tractor, was the most critical component for any race traversing the Warp: the Warp Engine. It was the heart of the starship, the World Killer.
It had to be said that the "Gellar Field" developed by the Imperium of Man was a marvel—a protective field that kept the ship safe from the horrors of the Warp.
Operating at high power caused every component to shudder violently. From what Kenmyo could see, thousands of screws were on the verge of rattling loose. Black smoke puffed from the gaps between parts, giving the distinct impression that the whole thing might fall apart at any second.
According to the host's memories, this engine had been salvaged by the previous Big Mek from the wreckage of a sunken Imperial fleet like a piece of prize trash. When they dug it out, an unexploded shell was still lodged deep in the casing. For reasons unknown, it hadn't detonated. To this day, that lethal shell remained embedded there; under the previous Big Mek's "miraculous" tinkering, the bomb had essentially fused with the engine.
The model and age were ancient. To the Imperial Navy, it was scrap metal; to the Orks, it had "just finished its break-in period."
While Kenmyo looked like an Ork, he still thought like a modern human. Accepting the "Ork-style" engineering philosophy—reminiscent of a reckless daredevil—was difficult. Riding this ship felt like sitting on a powder keg that could blow at any moment.
Out of concern for his safety, this was the first place Kenmyo inspected after gaining control of this shell. The Warp was a bizarre, dark parallel dimension of the material universe where physical laws didn't exist and everything was shaped by the emotional and psychic energy of sentient beings. Kenmyo didn't want to die before he'd even earned any points.
Checking the machine's status, he noted it looked "healthy"—mostly because he could see a thick, green energy coating the machinery. This was the lingering Waaagh! Field left by the previous Big Mek, still doing its job.
As he touched the machine, the green energy within it intertwined with the energy rising from his own skin. Knowledge about the machine flooded his mind—a strange, instinctive "knowing." It gave him a sudden urge to shout "WAAAGH!"—a profound emotional resonance.
In Kenmyo's world, he would have explained this as the "residual dregs" left by a powerful sorcerer, which would usually form a curse. Here, it was just how things worked.
Suddenly, a nearby pipe burst, spraying a jet of scalding steam directly into his face.
"Dammit!"
Fortunately, Orks were thick-skinned, and his armored suit was reinforced by the Waaagh! field. He simply wiped his face.
"Grot! Don't touch nuffin', or I'll smash yer head in!"
The words flew out of Kenmyo's mouth instinctively; this body's reflexes were taking over.
At his roar, a creature with a flat bald head and pointed ears—a Gretchin (or Grot)—cowered, its ears drooping in fear as it began to kowtow. Grots were the bottom rung of Ork society, cannon fodder and servants whose lives could be ended on a whim.
However, this didn't apply to the Mek-Grots. These specific Grots were the smartest of their kind, playing a vital role in repairing firearms and maintaining gear.
"Scram!"
Seeing the Grot's pathetic state, Kenmyo gave it a swift kick to the backside. Hearing the command to leave, the Grot acted as if it had received a royal pardon and scrambled toward Kenmyo's workshop. It much preferred hiding in its master's junk pile to being in the engine room. This was the same Grot he had punched into a wall earlier.
"Alright, the most worrying thing has been checked."
"Time to head to the feast?"
As images of traditional Ork "delicacies" or rather culinary nightmares flashed through Kenmyo's mind, he couldn't help but shudder.
He really didn't want to go.