Engineering is amazing. Making equipment that will both save my life AND kill other gits is a truly, truly wonderful experience. I felt a calling to the job, and I was determined to be the best damn Mek I could be. Of course, this intense focus also allowed me to completely miss several important warning signs. The extra noise, occasional warcry, and loud Dakka sounds were dismissed as your average Ork background noise. To be fair, it was pretty much the exact same noise, just amped up a bit, but still, it's amazing that I managed to miss a literal Chaos invasion, a Stormboy revolution, AND a mini raid on a nearby group of Speed Freaks, the Ork equivalent of a biker gang.

Of course, it is totally reasonable to miss the signs. After all, I was kind of in a Mad Scientist sort of mood, and there was just so much to do! First, I needed to amass the parts for several different electric motors, and the high likelihood of needing extras for future projects had me making several automated machines to pump out the parts. That took four hours to handle. Then the whole scrap metal melting process had to be slightly modified to divert resources to said machines, which took another half an hour. Then there was the assembly of said parts, the stockpiling of extra batteries, and the plans on getting more power generators from Hedsnagga. I spent two hours idly assembling bits and pieces while I came up with elaborate plans to get another generator from Hedsnagga, only to remember that Orks do know how to trade, and I happened to have a few items worth selling. Of course, I was sad to sell my few ounces of Adamantium, much of the spare silver, and most of my magnet stockpile. Though costly, the purchase of four extra power generator, two miniaturized and two normal sized, was a necessity for my armor improvements and prototyping. Besides, the magnets weren't worth much, as I'd switched to a coil gun, rather than a rail gun.

Oh, and then there were the weapons. You see, some of the Boyz turned up, asking after their promised weapons. So I had to stop my work, and get started on those. Again, I missed some pretty important signs, like how they were talking about ‘Stompin’ dem Daemon fingies.’ and all that, but I'm a busy man, and don't have time to listen to idle chatter when there's killy weapons to make. So I had to make a couple more machines to pump out chains for the chainswords, assemble extra batteries, and cobble together a few mini promethium powered engines to fit in the swords, and that took another three hours or so, including the chainsword assembly time. Then I had to show the Orks how to refuel the weapon, and how you need to press the trigger to get it ‘extra killy’, though one was certain that just hitting things really hard was a better idea than ripping them to shreds with a chainsword. So THAT git needed his own Choppa, which I had to bang out, using one of the initial titanium test alloys. They weren't as good as the real deal, and were prone to shattering when hit just right, but the git would be fine, and if not, then it's his own fault for not taking the damn chainsword.

All in all, it was nearly half a day before I even began PROTOTYPING the suit, and a lot can happen in an Ork warband in half a day. Nobs get overthrown, fights break out, someone forgets to check if a room is pressured before going in, and get sucked out into space. The usual shenanigans. Of course, such details were clearly beneath me, and I was completely justified in ignoring them in favor of finishing my suit. So what if a few of my Stormboyz kick the bucket while I'm gone? It's not like I needed more than a hundred of em. Ninety would work just fine, right?

Tangents on the future aside, the work on the suit was by far the most difficult, as well as the most rewarding. Rather than screw myself over by just randomly upgrading my suit, I opted for a quick test on a more… manageable scale. Say, Grot sized. And so began operation Make Grikkle Great Again. The process was slow, as I had only memories of the previous creation, a small guiding Ork presence, and my own intuition. The chest carapace was the easy part, having an exit hatch at the back, a pack for a power generator and additional ammo, and sockets for the limbs. Not many moving parts. The limbs were a different story. It was difficult to test the various motor configurations, as the power source was finicky, and batteries were needed as intermediaries. I'd settle on what seemed about right, only for the limb to resist motion in a certain direction, or would have too much power towards another. To complicate things, Grikkle limbs were a bit wiry, but some of the elite Grots were well muscled with thick arms and legs, which suggested that, once Grikkle got his suit and after the subsequent bloodshed that would inevitably follow, he'd start to fill out, as greenskins do after proving their dominance. The last thing I wanted was to be constantly resizing the limbs to fit him. So the inner harness had to accommodate varying sizes with minimal difficulty. After nearly half a day of struggle, and numerous failures and wasted parts, the bits were completed. I could have done it sooner, but I wanted a fully fledged prototype for myself, and cut no corners.

The arms were more difficult, but I had the knack after perfecting the legs, and it only took about six hours before they too were complete. Two more were spent assembling a miniature version of my coil gun, which needed four barrels, as the smaller size meant less coils overall, and that power needed to go somewhere. Next was a magazine loader at the hip, which was fed from the suits pack, handling a total of some 600 rounds, and the addition of a completely new rokket, also titanium in nature. A quick rokket testing, followed by the installation of the controls into the arm harnesses, and it was ready for testing.

To say Grikkle had been ecstatic is hardly doing it justice. The Grot acted like he'd entered Ork heaven, switching between salivating as he watched from a corner, panting like a beast in heat, to long monologues about how the ‘Dah Oppressors will be put down, and dah Grots will be rec’nized as vital to dah Ork WAAAAGH!” Unlike the other missed flags, I managed to nip this one in the bud. I regaled him with the tragic story of Guff Darkgut, the brave Grot who felled an Ork. The tale was one of bravery, where Guff managed to find a powerful weapon, and fought against the Ork that enslaved him. He was victorious, and as he celebrated his freedom, some other Orks got annoyed by his uppity behavior, and promptly squashed him. I then told him the story of Druff Ironhead, the loyal Grot who fought his Bosses enemies, and was greatly rewarded. This Grot was able to fight in many battles, and even kill several Orks, but only those that his Boss decided to kill. This Grot lived to be half as big as a Boy, and lived on as a legend to many Snotlings and Grots across the cosmos. As it turns out, Grots aren't as stupid as they look, and he put most of the pieces together, and promised he'd be ‘Dah best, most helpfulest ‘Ead Grot dat evah woz, killin’ dah Bosses enemies, and not causin’ trouble.’

The answer had satisfied, and the goblin had gone back to drooling, followed by plenty of daydreaming, and chasing the occasional jealous goblin away, the mere gaze of another goblin on his beloved armor drawing ire faster than an Ork being told he looks like an elfy princess. And when the time came, the goblin was almost shaking with excitement, a faint hum seeming to emanate from his body. For a moment, the little greenskin could only stare, admiring the sleek suit of armor. It was a deep, obsidian blue, just like the coil gun, with silver and gold highlighting on the edges and corners. My emblem was painted on both shoulders, and a metal sheet cut in the proper shape was welded to the front. The helmet was a bit crude, with only tinted glass to cover the eyes, leaving them vulnerable, but there weren't many better options. All in all, it was a beauty, far more pristine than any Ork creation. And it was all his.

Finished staring, the Grot leaped into action, following my instructions to enter the suit, engage the engines, and the operation of the gun and rokket. Once given the brief tutorial, the goblin had the nerve to stare at me for a few seconds, and I could tell he was considering blasting me to bits. I just leaned down, and gave him a nasty grin. “You’z a lucky Grot. Not every goblin gets a Mek boss dat gives ‘im such killy fings.” The goblin took my words to heart, and backed down, showing the traditional Ork method of showing submission by tilting forward slightly to provide a better target for smacking him upside the head. I gave him a serious blow, nearly breaking my fist, just to make sure he felt it through the armor.

With a grunt, I waved him off, followed by a stern warning of the danger if a pair of Orks should take a liking to him, or worse, Hedsnagga wanted to check out how it worked. Hopefully chastised enough to avoid any serious trouble, the goblin trundled out, wobbling slightly in the unfamiliar suit. I watched him go, a tiny sentimental emotion tugging at my heart. I tried to tell myself it was due to seeing the suit going into action, but I knew full well it was towards the goblin inside, who had the smarts and understanding to not blast away an annoying Ork who could be useful in the future. He'd passed the test, and I let go of the detonator of the small packet of explosives in his helmet, securing the three safeties before putting it back in my pocket. The little bugger was looking to be a good ‘Ead Grot after all.

Now, it was time to begin the REAL work. With a very basic diagram, drawn on a Squig leather sheet, along with the memories of my previous creation, it should have been a piece of cake. Unfortunately, just because something works on a small scale doesn't mean it'll work in a bigger scale. It's why you don't giant, thirty foot tall humans. Sure, the Imperium could do the genetic work to make that happen, but the organs wouldn't be big enough of they stayed the same ratios. The whole square, cube law and such. Double the size, and the area increases by eight. This meant that, while the limbs were functioning properly, there was hardly any power to them. Even the old suit was stronger, and it was barely strong enough to account for its own mass, let alone make me faster. Sure, both would hit like a truck, but I'd be a walking tank, without the strong armaments, maneuverability, and thick armor.

Frustrated, I tried filling the empty space with more motors, but that only caused problems with the power ratios, making movements in one direction harder than another. I was practically back to square one, and the last time it'd taken half a day to iron out the kinks, who knows how long it would be for the larger version. I sure as hell wasn't willing to spend that long, when I needed more vehicles to haul all the new machines and equipment I had. And the Stormboyz gear wouldn't make itself. I was on a timetable, and though I wasn't sure how long it would be before we reached Armageddon, there was something stirring in my blood, as if calling me to a great feast, only the feast was enemies, and the utensils guns and chainswords.

Lacking many options, I did what originally would have been unthinkable. I looked to Orky me for suggestions. And boy, did he have some. I almost ripped out the bottom half of the thigh before catching myself, and mentally reviewing the plan before enacting. This is easier said than done, as the ‘plan’ was mostly pure instinct, rather than rational thought. I rejected idea after idea, only two small changes bringing any tangible results, which would probably only register as a single percent in increased power. Hours passed, and I grew more and more frustrated, though there was minor progress.

It was when Grikkle returned, covered head to toe in blood, sporting several large dents and holes on his armor, and trailing a line of some sixty odd goblin heads with a small Ork head at the head of the macabre parade, that I finally snapped. With a furious scream, I threw myself at the Grot, practically dragging him out of the suit in my haste to check the damage. The git himself had a small gun wound in the side, but I could hardly be bothered with such a trivial wound. I catalogued each hole, mentally picturing where each bullet would go, and what damage it would have caused. It wasn't horrible, but it'd been an hour of repairs at least. My fury turned to temporary insanity, and I turned to Grikkle, who shrunk in on himself, clutching at the Ork head with both hands, using it as a shield. “I-It wasn't my fault, Boss! Dah Git woz eyein’ me all funny like, and was gonna take a wrench to me, so I had to krump ‘im!”

I barely registered the words, preparing for the repairs, and it took several minutes before I paused. Wrench? What Ork uses a wrench? Then it dawned on me. The sonofabitch killed a Mek?! Where, how, WHEN?! I wheeled on the goblin, who was busy eyeballing my in-progress suit. “Wotz dat Ork git doin’ ‘round ‘ere? Thought only Hedsnagga and dat ova big one worked ‘ere.” Grikkle seemed confused for a moment, staring at me like I was a dolt, which didn't help my temper. The goblin wrung his hands, eyes darting back and forth like he wanted to run. “‘E’s one of dah Boss Mek’s ‘elpers. ‘Es not much hisself, but does dah basic work for Digga Throatsnikk, dah Mek on dah ovah side.”

My mind wheeled from this admission. A dozen threads of consciousness warred for attention. Would Digga notice his missing assistant? Was it common for Meks to serve better, bigger Meks? Was I in danger, and did I need to finish my suit ASAP? Could I get my own assistants? These lines of thought slowly converged into a very Orky solution to my problem. If Digga was a possible threat, then he needed to be removed. And if he had assistants, his death would net me them, along with all the goodies and scrap the git had stored, which would handle the equipping of the Stormboyz. With a gleeful grin, I hurried about my work. I had a Mek to kill, and I wasn't going to do it alone.