I cannot say I am a fan of manual labour. It is true that the feeling after a good workout is pretty great, but I've always felt it to be outweighed by the torturous effort beforehand. Hard work is virtually anathema to me, and worse, the mental musings I usually do to entertain myself during such moments were proving to be…. Unproductive.

“Come on now, it's CLEARY an Isekai story. I mean, I've been reborn in an entirely new body after being unjustly killed. There’s surely some mysterious goddess looking out for me. Maybe she’ll even grant me a wish, and who knows, maybe I won't be a virgin much longer!” My Choppa slammed once again into the sturdy timber and iron that held the warehouse together, cutting at a large support column that kept the somewhat thin wall together.

“If there WAS a goddess, she'd have shown herself already. The genre is pretty clear on that. Besides, what kind of goddess places someone like me in the motherfucking Warhammer 40k universe?! Someone with far too much Slaaneshi for my tastes, that's for sure. Now, a coma makes WAY more sense. Come on, weren't we always dreaming about getting an army together and actually PLAYING, rather than just watching the occasional Let's Play or lore video that popped up in our feed? It'd make perfect sense for a sleeping conscious to come up with this scenario. I mean, we WERE wanting to drop the whole Beta male routine, right? What's more Alpha than an Ork?”

I grumbled at the entirely logical response as I pushed my weight against the amalgam of wood and iron molded into a relatively straight post that secured the western corner. A grunt and a shove sent the pillar tumbling to the ground, smashing the wayward debris into so many splinters. The roof groaned and leaned, having only three walls to support its weight. I wasn't really worried about the state of the material, given the haphazard building typical of Orks. Lots of broken boards and nails seemed the go to method for most things. I'd have to see where they were getting their materials, and if I could maybe get some good, straight wooden beams.

“Logic is all well and good, but come on, there isn't any good explanation for all this that doesn't involve magic or advanced science of some sort. So we're talking aliens, gods, or perpendicular plane of existence. It's way too real for even my amazing brain to handle. And besides, if it were my own mind, wouldn't I be some great Warboss, rather than some wimpy newborn?”

The deft riposte left both sides of the debate mulling over their responses. Muttered complaints and inarticulate arguments issued from my mouth in a muddled slurry as I put my back into hauling a section of wall into the growing pile. I tossed the tangle of wood and metal onto the ground, and trundled back to the dwindling warehouse. I mechanically wiped at my brow, despite the lack of sweat, and surveyed my progress. The warehouse had been emptied, useful items being kept in their crates and stacked near the crevice, while useless junk had been gathered into a pile for further sorting by the goblins. Maybe they'd find some personal use for the trash. I had popped out the inner walls first thing, which had revealed several small cubbies filled with various stolen items, no doubt secret layers of the more clever Grots. Little of real value was to be found, and there had been plenty of signs of a quick exit, with scattered boxes and bags tossed haphazardly on the floor.

All in all, it was mostly a bunch of useless trash. Perfect for repurposing into my new base. Trashed weapons could be recycled and melted down into nails and plates, and scraps of cloth used as additional padding for the nests I planned the Grots to focus on next. Nothing would go to waste, especially since it was so close to home, and would require little supervision to get the Grots to haul inside.

I wasn't ready to tear down the entire building JUST yet, since I could tell there were a few more hidden spots up in the roofing. I'd have Grikkle scan it for loot before finishing the deconstruction. For now, I settled myself to separating metal from wood and ripping nails from planks for reuse while I waited for Grikkle to report the completion of his task.

“Am I really doing the right thing here? I mean, if it means my survival, I'll cut down a thousand greenskins, but should I really become one of them, or try and, I don't know, improve them somehow?” This gave me a good laugh, the sheer inanity of trying to give the Orks culture was a most amusing prospect. Oh yes, only the finest of skulls for the sipping of our enemies blood. And make sure to clean your Choppa after every kill, it wouldn't do to use a messy blade, after all. Pictures of Orks wearing frilly outfits and fans, dancing to a metal jam on a ballroom with corpses strung on the walls was quite the mental image, and only fueled my mirth. Dark humour was far more appealing now that I'd actually killed a few people. And people they were. Sure, Orks weren't like humans with their laws and moralities, but they were fully sentient beings with their hopes and dreams. And I'd killed them for survival and sport. And I was okay with that.

That was a nasty little thought, to fully understand that I was capable of murder for nothing more than a small boost to my lifespan and survival rates. I mean, I could probably stay a small Ork forever, hiding in the fringes, and living off wild Squig. But that just felt… wrong, somehow. Like I was given a chance at being great, and was squandered it like I had for most of my previous life. I guess that was sort of at the heart of it. Looking back, even my older self, pre-orkification, found my teen years to be an utter wash. There had been girls to chase while I watched shitty tv. There'd been things to learn while I sluffed class. And if I could go back in time, I'd probably do a way better job.

But that's just part of growing up, isn't it? You make mistakes, and because of them you learn how to do things better. And I'd made the ultimate mistake, and paid the price for it. I stuck my dick on crazy ( well, we hadn't got that far, but the point still stands ) and got screwed for it. Heh. Screwed.

A cough announced the sneaky arrival of my most favored Grot, his hat speckled with fresh blood. Looks like somebody was learning how to handle Grots. Oh, who am I kidding, this little guy was probably years ahead when it came to dealing with greenskins. I just happened to have size on my side, which made all the difference in the world.

“Dah hutz be scrapped, Boss! Scav is sorted and ready for buildin’! On your command, Commandah!” The smart salute was far too military, a marked change in attitude. Grikkle’s stance, legs tucked together and back straight was as far from the typical slumping style that even as distracted as I was, it registered clearly in my mind. Since when did orks act in such a way? Had I done something similar to spark this change? I didn't think so…. A worry for another time. I returned the salute, and congratulated my assistant.

“Well done, ‘Ead Gobbo! Next in line is takin’ all dis mess to dah base, propah like. Get the Boyz movin’, and krump any dat make a run fer it.” Grikkle nodded, gesturing to a pair of corpses he had hauled out of the crevice. “Already on it, Boss. Dah Boyz be here in short ordah. Hup too free foor, hup!” The goblin started marching in the most ridiculous and uncannily cute manner, feet shooting forward with each step as he waddled his way to the crevice. Once I was sure he was out of earshot, I let out a burst of laughter, tears rolling from my eyes as I imagined my Grots all dressed up in uniform, marching like some fascist police force. It was comical, but also an intriguing idea, and one I'd have to experiment with later. If anything, it'd be most amusing to watch, and well worth the effort.

Now, it was time to get things fully sorted, so we could start on the fun part of the plan. Both human and Orky bits chuckled and rubbed mental hands together at the thought of what was to come.