Boss, Boss, Bug

Frozen ships were always a pain. You get malfuncting air-conditioning freezing the whole place up, often freezing any stored water supplies and creating a veritable tundra. What would be painful labour to others, clearing out the ice for experts to come and fix all the systems and make the place habitable, was a constant source of fun to the most violent inhabitants of Big Rok. After all, few problems could not be solved with burnas and large amounts of somewhat-functioning explosives.

"Ready fer da' boooooooooooooom!" shouted the expert foreman, a survivor of many similar operations.

A set of explosions rocked the area, knocking most others off their feet, with roaring laughter. The iceberg within the room began falling apart. Small squads armed with pickaxes and flamers immediately set out to handle the more manageable chunks, filled with maniacal glee.

Boommasta' Zapzog took a nice big puff from his cigar, taking in the sounds of destruction from every corner of the massive chamber. His job was such a joy, it was, something any ork could appreciate. He had made a name for himself, shown off his unique skills, even found a daemonette who enjoyed violent outbursts to an unhealthy degree. For a few fleeting moments, his mind drifted towards thoughts of retirement. Reality snapped him out of it, as joyous screams were replaced by ones of agony.

More and more rose from within the icy tomb, several for each unlucky squad. He could soon see lithe, agile creatures darting to and fro, growling, snarling, hungry for biomass. A massive shape suddenly burst from the ice, tall as a structure. The beast stepped out on top of the shattered ice, standing on two mighty legs armoured in crimson chitin. Its arms were massive blades, evolved over aeons to cut through even the mightiest armour with a single strike. Its eyes radiated in a golden hue. It looked in his direction, and for a fleeting moment, Zapzog felt an unimaginable malevolence behind the golden orbs. A greater intelligence which threatened to dwarf the galaxy itself. An all-consuming hunger, fuelled by eternal consumption. Needless to say, Boommasta' Zapzog did not make it to retirement.

"I must say, I never quite expected a discovery of this magnitude."

She nodded towards the inquisitor, taking a sip from her decorated cup:

"It is quite delectable, isn't it? Zyra," she nodded towards one of her entourage, "refill, please."

"Coming right up, farseer!"

She poured them another round of the finest fruit tea Ezekiel had ever tasted, then scurried off. The Stiff Tail cafe was home to a niche, but devoted clientele. And, as luck would have it, most of the employees were part of Big Rok's loudest fanclub.

"I sometimes feel I misuse my power. But then I remember their sort is actually still in debt to my kind, so it's fine."

"A practical outlook, I must say," at another table, a group of gaunts was receiving complimentary belly rubs for being long-time customers, "I would say the Big Rok at large uses that extensively."

"Oh, indeed. Who has time to worry about technicalities like race when there are such possibilities when working together?"

"It all seems so... alien to me. Pun not intended."

"Hahah, I don't quite believe you on that one, Ezekiel."

"Most of my colleagues wouldn't have even noticed a pun. They are a bit too focused on their work. I sometimes feel they are less human than the xenos they hunt," he shook his head and sipped again, "the ones here, especially."

"We are an odd bunch, aren't we?

"To say the least. One group I find even stranger than the rest, however."

"Who might that be?"

He tilted his head towards the gaunt table, where the menu moved to sensual back-scratching:

"Their condition makes no sense to me. Warpal manipulation does not affect them, yet their behaviour is nonsensical. Are you familiar with tyranid biology?"

"Only from tales and songs, I am afraid."

"We have entire planets devoted to keeping knowledge on their kind. The crux of the matter is, they require a 'synapse' collection to the Hive Mind to function in an organised fashion. Otherwise, they revert to a more primal, feral state. Yet look at those," one of the small terrors coughed up a pile of teeth, earning a kiss on the forehead, "they reason, they function, they even show signs of individualism. It is maddening, not knowing what exactly causes this."

"You seek a weapon," she shot him a smile and piercing look.

He returned the gesture:

"Human nature, farseer. Or perhaps inquisitorial nature."

They shared a chuckle and sipped on their luscious tea. Suddenly, the gaunts all stood to attention and started chirping to each other. With a quick growl towards their waitress, they rushed outside. Miriana and Ezekiel merely glanced at each other, then followed immediately.

There was commotion outside, as the entirety of the tyranid populace seemed to enter a state of panic. They darted to and fro, gathering into squads, chirping, growling and snarling. Among it all, a black squig stood on a bald, elevated position, just watching the debacle. Farseer and inquisitor approached Snogrot, who was looking more dumbfounded than usual:

"Oy, fancy seein' youz lot 'ere. Bug boyz be gettin' riled up over somethin'. Dunno' wot, squigfest be next week."

"There is something in the air," she looked around at the chaos, "a new... presence."

"I never liked those. They upset the status quo."

Shivers ran down her spine:

"Something is very, very wrong."

After a bit of bickering amongst themselves, the bug boys made a dash towards the outskirts of the most inhabited areas, farseer and inquisitor in pursuit. They reached one of the rok's many junkyards, littered mostly with failed results of mad science and anything else wrecked by aforementioned failures.

One thing surely wasn't a failure, though. Standing on one of the heaps, the beast eyed them from above, a warrior coloured as if it was drenched in blood. It roared at the top of its lungs, then jumped down. The gaunts before it took a few nervous steps back. From a hidden vantage point, the pair looked on, Ezekiel commenting:

"That one is different. A different strain?"

"I sense a fraction of the presence, emanating from it."

"This is not good. If a link to the Devourer is re-estalished..."

The warrior growled once again, and, much to its confusion, one of the gaunts growled back. The rest soon joined in, before the warrior took a nervous step back, instead. The smaller tyranids pounced as one, tearing into their distant cousin's chitin like a pack of rabid chainswords, tearing the interloper apart on the spot.

"This... this is astounding."

"Oy, wot be goin' on 'ere," they turned to see Snogrot, flanked by Ugu and the diplomat gaunt, sporting its trademark hat and a regular tie, "all da' bug boyz goin' crazy!"

Miriana pointed with her spear:

"That's because there are more than we believed."

Indeed, a small horde soon gathered within the junkyard, the home team more dominant, but the crimson host would undoubtedly be able to cause great damage. A horrific wail caused the area to fall silent. Miriana visibly shivered all over, and even he could feel it. An unnatural chill rushing through every fibre of his body.

The monster rose into view, menacing, massive. It marched among its own host, before even the other tyranids made way for it. It made a beeline for them and the humanoids present couldn't help but take a few steps back. The diplomat gaunt marched to meet it. The giant knelt down on one knee, its gaze fixed upon the much tinier leader. It growled, the diplomat squeaked back.

Ugu and Snogrot seemed to be stuck in a sort of translating trance, so he turned to the farseer:

"What are they saying?"

"My tyranid is a little rusty, but lemme' see..."

"Word for word, if possible."

"I'll do my best," she gazed at many factors. It was not a simple audible exercise, their body language and even psychic emanations had to be taken into account. The monster's were powerful enough to almost block out the diplomat's:

"They... warriors, flock, children. Taken, under other," the tyrant slashed the air with its blade, "children, ours! No other may control. Other must die! This child slay, this child rend!"

The tiny one squeaked in reply:

"Boss strong, boss kick your buttocks! We bring boss, boss clobber!"

The giant rose to its full height and stomped the ground:

"Bring other! Other die, then, children together. Swarm move on."

Despite the circumstances, Ezekiel could not help but smile. Finally, everything made sense.

Nignub walked onto the scene like a pile of hats. Every single pointy stikk he possessed carried at least one of the blue beauties, if not more. He swagger'd up with utter confidence, something between a hammer and a battering ram clutched in his only living limb. The other arm was a mean deffgun, with enough rounds to take on a regiment of guardsmen and still have ammo to spare, which an ork would use to shoot blindly in random directions. It was a cultural thing.

The home team's tyranids roared in unison and Nignub took their cheer with a toothy grin, waving at them as he passed. This cheer was interrupted by the tyrant, as it roared terribly and crushed a random vehicle under its foot:

"Enough, it said."

A small viewing platform had been hastily erected in the area. They sat at a rather posh table and were brought luscious tea. A few other notables were seated around, as well, waiting for the match. Ezekiel replied:

"I could have gathered that much. I suppose there is nothing more we can do but watch."

"You mentioned something about it all making sense."

"Yes. The tyranids never acted feral because they were never disconnected."

It was her turn to look dumbfounded:

"But then why," it dawned upon her and she looked the grinning inquisitor right in the eye, "the Waaagh."

A horrific roar filled the surroundings, followed by a unified gasp by the audience. The two did not seem to notice.

"Ah, so you are familiar with the concept. But yes, I do believe that is the case. After being isolated from the Hive Mind, they did what they do best. Adapt. And so, they attached themselves to the only other psychic beacon within reach. The orks."

"Which would explain their love for questionable brew."

"And their sudden bout of individualism and general obedience. In their minds, they have simply substituted the Hive Mind for orks. Which gave rise to this conflict of interest."

"A regrettable situation, I must say," and she sipped on her tea, pinky finger extended.

"Quite, quite," he mirrored her actions.

The fight had started as a staring contest, as the two competitors circled around each other. Nignub turned briefly towards a nob with a fashionable hat:

"Zog, this remindz me of da' time wez took down da' big daemuny thing. Think this one be bigga', Pain?"

"Nah, 'bout same sizez. Careful, though, those choppy bitz look mighty strong."

"Just watch. I'z gunna' clobba' 'im in no time."

As soon as he said that, he was catapulted into the air by a mighty kick and slammed into one of the junk heaps. The audience yelped. The tyrant roared and charged once again, not wasting a single second. Nignub collected himself just in time to roll out of the way of one of the blades, which proceeded to cut a deep gash in the very ground.

Nignub spit onto the ground, then sidestepped another furious swing. Slipping under the monster's guard, he suddenly grabbed hold of one leg and, with all his strength, tossed its bulk upwards. The tyrant collapsed with a screech and the boss relocated onto a nearby heap. As soon as the opponent started scrambling to its feet, asound filled the area. The humming noise of a rotating barrel.

The air was filled with rounds the size of a grot's nose and covered the entire area in front of him in a display of utterly perfect dakka. The tyrant shielded its eyes from the storm, its taking the brunt of the onslaught otherwise. As soon as a disappointing clicking replaced constant gunfire, the monster looked at him. Its eyes flashed, as something from beyond gloated, and it charged.

Nignub mumbled something about shoddy ammo chambers, then brandished his hammer. Finest repurposed imperial steel, somewhat balanced, with added spiky bits. Most orks would have have used it two-handed, but not Nignub. That would mean less dakka, and that was simply unacceptable.

He watched it approach with a toothy grin, blades raised for an overhead swing. It only managed to cut another heap in half. Nignub then surprised it, as he latched onto one of the swords with his gun-arm. The tyrant, in fury, violently shook the arm, trying to get him off. And that was exactly what he had wanted.

Letting go at just the right moment, Nignub soared through the air like an obese bird, his hammer arm read to swing downwards. The monster watched in stupor as spiky metal impacted its face, causing a sickening, loud crack. Dark green liquid spurted into the air as the beast whimpered. As soon as he landed, he got back to work, smashing the beast's knee and forcing it to collapse. Debilitated, it merely watched him approach, hissing, the soft insides of its skull visible for all eyes to see.

"So, youz come all da' way 'ere," Nignub walked with an innate swagger to his downed opponent, "thinkin' to yerself, 'Oy, I'z gunna' take their bug boyz Iz iz'. Well, lemme' tell ya something," he crouched in front of its maw, currently only gasping for air, "those boyz be with me. All the 'umiez, be with me. All the skelliez, eldurz and wot'z-it'z, be with me. Youz know why?"

The eyes flashed again and the beast shook its head. The intelligence was genuinely curious, for the first time in countless millennia of hunger. Nignub's grin grew wide:

"'Cause youz may be da' biggest... but I'z da' boss!"

Bewildered, the beast barely even registered the mighty hammer as it reduced its head into a pulp. The home team's tyranids roared in triumph, hopping and cheering. Nignub basked in their attention for a few moments, before turning to the others, who mostly stood idly by, confused... animalistic. He frowned and opened his maw:

"Waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaagh," the cry echoed throughout the entire hulk, making many gazes turn. The would-be invaders bowed down to the ground, one by one, until Nignub was satisfied, "dat'z much betta', yeh! Oy, diplomatey," the gaunt chirped in response, "make sure deyz fit in. Wouldn't want any fightin' among MY boyz."

It saluted with ridiculous enthusiasm, even managing to knock over its hat. The boss turned to leave and was immediately accompanied by an entourage of polish-grots, as well as the finest kaptin this side of the galaxy:

"Oy, boss, dat waz pretty gud."

"Oh, yeh. Let 'im 'it me at the start. Makez it more suspensyful."

"Can't argue with dat. Oy, Iz wanted ta' talk bout the boss pole. Wouldn't it be betta' if wez, you know, didn't make it outta' wood?"

"Wood be tradition, Pain. 'Sidez, we'z gonna' set a new record bit for most boss polez built in a week at this ratez."

"I guezz."

The gearhead quarter was surprisingly empty, on account of the squigfest being just one block over. That suited her. She could set up without any interference. A pair of helpful, if unwilling thralls brought the relic inside her newly-purchased shop. They put it down gently and she caressed it, almost like a firstborn.

Metallic tentacles twisted through the air, working several controls and levers at the same time. Soon, it illuminated the entire chamber in a violet light, as the unnatural flames within the furnace burst to life.

She emitted a chuckle, which soon turned to maniacal laughter.