Day in da' Job

The scene was gruesome, to say the least. Body parts everywhere, not necessarily close to their former owners. Dozens of bullet holes, a forgotten, bloody choppa'. Even a few jugs of fungus beer, unceremoniously spilled onto the ground. Disgraceful. A lesser man would have barfed on the spot. Not an ork, though.

Most certainly not an ork like Gorasho Pain. He stood above his colleagues, as befitted any self-respecting nob, clad in a suit equal parts uniform and battle armour, all pleasant navy blue. Many items decorated his belt, mostly trinkets and baubles, but also his trusty twin-linked shoota' and a strange, curved, un-orky dagger. A fashionable hat decorated his head, looted from an unfortunate commissar, held together in places by fabrics of various colours. His healthy eye scanned the area, along with a cybork one. A gift from the departmunt's mek, after a particularly unlucky firefight.

Finally, he found who he was looking for and screamed:

"Oy, dok!"

The considerably smaller, and considerably more deranged, greenskin turned around and waved at the nob with an arm that wasn't his:

"Ah, kaptin! Perfect timin'! I jus' got done choppin' 'em... err, choppin' 'em more, I mean."

"Gud. An' wot ya' found out?"

The dok's grin was almost devilish:

"Most were chopped ta' deff. Otherz got shot up. Dat'z about it."

"Gud work. Ya' can go now."

With a nod, the ork ran off, a few limbs sticking out of his bag. Gorasho continued with his procedures:

"Kadet Snogrot, report!"

Snogrot was, at first sight, a typical ork. Large, green and dumb-looking. However, he possessed a mean kunning. A kunning the kaptin had come to rely on:

"Reportin', kaptin! Alright, all dese dead 'unz," he motioned at the bodies or what remained, "be Bluddspittaz. Except da' onez in da' corna' dere, deyz be Rokeataz."

"Gangz dese dayz..."

"I know kaptin. We'z also found," he started picking things out of a bag labelled 'Importunt stuffz', the first a small paper, with a large blue 'A LOT' written on it, "dis letta', from the Rokeataz, sayin' 'ow much they 'ate da' Bluddspitaz," next, a strange looking, modified rokkit launcha', "a Rokeataz kustom flinga'-shoota'," and finally... a pie, "and dis squiq pie. Looks delico... delica... tasty, kaptin."

"Gud work," the kaptin spoke between bites, "wot can we deduce from dis, kadet Snogrot?"

"Well, I fink da' Rokeataz shot 'em up, kaptin."

"Youz may be right. And in dat case, we should stop by deir gang 'ouse and," with the click of a button, a single sunglass extended from the cybork eye, over the healthy one, "rok deir world."

The assembled polees orks were a mixed bunch. Most were just wearing whatever blue garments they had found lying about, others actually had something vaguely resembling a standardised uniform. However, on the front line, the line closest to the surrounded building, stood a group of 'ard boyz, more than ready to bust some skulls. And walls, if need-be.

The structure itself was a dime-a-dozen. Built mostly from metal plates and whatever else could be found on the gigantic space hulk, with one of its sides propped against the hulk's own walls. Two floors, both filled with angry Rokeataz, waving their shootaz and choppaz at the blue force.

Gorasho stood right behind the armoured shocktroops, with Snogrot at his side. With a decidedly orky speaker in his hands, he shouted at the Rokeataz:

"Listen up, ya' squigbrainz! Youz shot up sum a' dem Bluddspitaz durin' peace time. Da boss don't like dat! I gave ya one chance ta' just give up! Odawise, I'z gunna' be forced ta'-"

At that moment, a gunshot sounded and a bullet pierced right through the kaptin's hat. As it fell to the ground, the other polees orks' eyes grew wide.

"Mork 'ave mercy," came from one of the 'ard ones.

Gorasho straightened himself, crushed the speaker in his hands and, at the top of his lungs, screamed:

"Bring me a rokkit!"

As a few grot assistants scurried away, Snogrot interjected:

"Ain't dat against regulatiunz, kaptin?"

"Kadet Snogrot, repeat ta' me regulatiun Z."

"Ummm... uhhh... Oh! If dey touch me hat, all oda' regulatiunz can go zog demselvez!"

"Very gud! I promote ya' ta' senior kadet!"

"Wot dat mean, kaptin?"

"I get ta' call ya senior kadet."

"Ooooh, I likez dat!"

The gretchin returned, barely lifting the weapon even with their combined strength:

"Kaptin! Yer rokkit!"

"Ah, fankz," he casually aimed the launcha' with one hand, as the Rokeataz ran for cover. The projectile blew a massive hole in one of the walls and filled the area with smoke. The kaptin looked at his assembled force, "well, wot ya waitin' for?! Chop 'em ta' bitz!"

With an earthshaking battlecry, the orks charged to battle, with the 'ard boyz soaking up most incoming fire. Gorasho almost teared up, watching such a magnificent display. Body parts occasionally flew out from the smoke, most probably belonging to the Rokeataz. But then, an 'ard boy's helmet suddenly landed on the ground, complete with the head.

A massive ork charged out from the smoke, his right arm replaced with a mighty power klaw, while the other clenched a similarly-sized choppa'. On his back, the nob carried the Rokeataz banner, a set of crudely drawn teeth chomping down on, predictably, a rock. Rokus Deffsnip never gave up without a fight.

While Snogrot and the assistants panicked, Gorasho guffawed loudly and reached for an item on his back. From an oversized sheath, emerged a similarly oversized weapon. Its hilt was finely cut, its blades polished to a mirror shine. With the click of a button, the mighty chain-choppa' whirred to life, loud as a trukk. Bessy was ready to cut through anything in her path.

Kaptin' and gang boss met mid-charge. The klaw tried to grab and tear, but the kaptin was too fast and dodged to the side, while the choppa' met with its superior cousin. The lesser weapon resisted for a few seconds, but was swept aside. Bessy cut right through what little armour the other nob had and severed his left arm.

Rokus roared and attacked with renewed frenzy, his klaw always coming within inches of the dodging kaptin. With each strike, the one-armed ork grew slower and slower, until Gorasho finally struck back with another precise blow, severing the other limb, as well.

Deffsnip fell to his knees as the kaptin reached for his shoota'. He aimed at the downed ork's head and spoke:

"Lemme' give ya' an 'and."

"Oh, zog you."

With two pulls of the trigger, since the first shot only took off part of the jaw, the fight was over. Any leftovers were gathered up and sent to the dok, much to his unending glee, while the polees orks slowly dispersed to their homes, or to various taverns which littered the hulk's insides. Gorasho had similar plans to the latter group's, along with the ever-trustworthy senior kadet Snogrot.

"Dat waz impressive, kaptin." he blurted out as their buggy almost hit a small pile of forgotten body parts.

"Da' rokkit or da' fight?"

"Bof, actually."

"Fankz, Snogrot."

They rode past several districts, orky or otherwise, before they reached Gorasho's establishment of choice. Joe's.

A remarkable building, if only because of the massive glowing sign right above the entrance. Being friends with a few meks always came in handy. A place where the service was quick, the fungus beer was just cool enough, the squiq pie just salty enough. A place where a good fight was just a few insults away at any time. A paradise for any self-respecting ork.

They entered and waved at a few other well-known patrons, before taking a seat right at the bar. Joe, the owner, was with them in seconds, his usual black hair-squiq looking even more fabulous than ordinarily:

"Ah, good evenin', kaptin! And Snogrot, 'course."

"Evenin', Joe."

"Da' usual, I bet?"

"Dat would be great."

And so, with a clash of jugs and massive gulps of fungus beer, another day ended for the members of the Big Rok Polees Departmunt.