Dear Bitzonator,

It's so good to be back! I've been havin' a hard time making the, well, time for sittin' down 'n' writin'. Zapgrod's been workin' hard on a new project, but I'm gonna start in order. I'll tell ya about that zoggin' gizmo of his eventschully.

I knew the moment I rolled off my hammock that something was off today. First off, when I went to clean my teef I realized my gob squig was gone. I checked under the water bucket, behind the reflekshun-glass on the wall, but nothing. I don't fink Zapgrod took it, 'cause he never bothers about anything smaller than his fist (which is partly why he uses other grots to drive all the screws an' everythin'). Either another grot has nicked it, or it just crawled into the poop chute and is now floatin' in space covered in frozen…

Well, whatever, I told myself. I was just gonna go without till Gniuk's got a new bunch of gob squigs. I decided to start the day with a nice breakfast, you know - toasted yeast bread, some radiator-grilled fan caps, maybe go the way o' the Evil Sunz an' chug a few swigs o' fuel I'd saved up for a gloomy mornin' like this. So I climbed all the way up to the vent 'cause that's where I hid the jerry can (that's between you and me, by the way). Guess who didn't find the jerry can in the vent?

That's when I started believing this wasn't bad luck at all. I mean, even an ork would be suspicious after two things in a row vanished, but while an ork would just blame the closest grot and kick his teef in to make himself feel better, a grot like me wasn't going to be satisfied with a mere act o' violence.

I inspected the screw-holes around the vent. They looked completely fine, like nobody had messed wiv 'em, so I could rule out Git Four-Lotz-Five, since an imbecile like him has never been able to turn a screwdriver the right way. Either another, more kunnin' grot had decided to nick all o' my stuff just to mess with me, or there was something in the vents.

Well, the one way to find out was with a trap.

Today the boss was out to the other side o' the Black Belcha (it's the spaceship we're livin' in) to test this new invention, see if he could plug it in somewhere or somethin', so I took the day off to go to the lower decks. Traps at the bazaar are an absolute ripoff, so I told myself I might as well make one on my own, y'know, a nice squig trap made by weldin' a couple stabbas together with a gob guard 'n' some pieces o' scrap. I'm a mekboy's assistant, after all.

I made my way down the big stairwell, a repurposed crater left by a giant orbital laser so, like, it's quite dangerous, but it also gives a chance to take a good look at a cross section o' the floors.

I'm proud o' the Black Belcha. I was born here five humie years ago (there's no orky time equivalent 'cause orks generally never think ahead that much), and after all this time we haven't blown up yet, not even after the big laser incident. Most assault ships are hastily built to be thrown at the enemy, and even I would admit that's the proppa orky way to do it, but it seems Kaptin Peechblack had a lil' bit more four-sight when he gathered up his mekboyz an' told 'em to build the Black Belcha. We're Freebooterz, a small yet flexible and durable force. Like a beefed-up grot, even though Peechblack himself would never make that comparison.

Where was I? Oh, yeah, I was headin' down the lower decks. Basically the lower decks is where they keep all the loot after the nobz and then the boyz have picked out the best bits. Most o' the stuff you find there is pieces o' rusty metal, glass and bone, and if ya got the proppa tools - like I do - ya can make quite a few teef reforgin' or just welding bits together. I'd do it more often if I had the chance, but if Zapgrod knew about this side gig o' mine he'd build a shokk attack gun just to stuff me into it.

I went to the back end of the cargo hold, searching for the trash piles almost everyone tends to avoid. Most days in the lower decks you'll hear snotlings cackling, grot guns detonating, unstable stacks of rubble collapsing onto young clumsy ladz. Today, though, the silence was almost absolute, save for the drip drip of some fluid leakin' out of somewhere. I could hear myself breathin' for the first time in… I dunno how long. Years, maybe. The Black Belcha's quite a loud place to live in.

I took out my modified grot-volver and just aimed in front of me as I walked further. I know ya can keep a secret, so I'll admit, at that moment I wished I had gone to the bathroom before comin' here. If anythin' had approached me in that moment, I would've let it all out in my pants.

Eventschully I found something that could work for my trap. A busted power klaw, still with the remains of the owner's arm, all shrivelled up to the point o' lookin' almost mummified, like those heads some Goff nobz like to hang on their boss poles. Anyway, the motor part of the klaw was pretty much unusable, but the klaws themselves still looked sharp enough to snag, or even snap a grot or a squig in two. I was already buildin' a spring-activated mechanism in my mind, when a loud noise made me look above me shoulder.

Have ya ever seen a snapper squig? Of course you haven't, ya never got out o' here since the day ya was built. Basically it's a big squig that burrows in the ground, waits for someone to walk on it, an' then snap! its jaws close around ya an' suddenly ye're missin' yer better half, except not in a romantical way like the humies like to think.

What I saw was two rows of teef poking out of a mountain of what looked like dirt. It's not like you find dirt easily on a spaceship, so I found it weird. Also the teeth were enough of a motivation for me to just get outta there as fast as a juiced-up dragsta.

I took hold of the power klaw. Gork's green grin, was it heavy! It was going to slow me down! I looked at the snapper squig and saw it hadn't moved yet, which meant it was waitin' for me to walk in its mouth. Or, if I was lucky, it was takin' a nap. I tried to slow down my breath, then, and like any other grot with a shred of self-respect I came up with a plan. I was goin' to slowly walk my way out, and the moment the git jumped out of his burrow I would drop the thing 'n' scuttle out o' there.

I heaved my loot on me back and walked out o' there all sneaky-like, tiptoein' my way on the most stable-lookin' metal plates strewn along the path. It didn't take long before my back started hurtin' like crazy, but before I knew it I turned round the corner, out o' sight of those teeth (even if teeth can't really see, but whatever).

When I reached the stairway I dropped the arm a moment to catch my breath 'n' stretch… but that was a mistake. I'm a grot, and grots should always keep their guard up. Unless it's the Imperial guard we're talkin' about, of course, in which case you should bring it down and keep it down.

"Oi!"

The scream came from the top of the stairway, and it almost made me jump. I looked up and my blood started to boil.

"Kreetbo," I said, my claws clenching as I squinted at the long-eared git. He was fairly lanky for a gretchin, and his sordid excuse for a coat did not hide his rotund belly, which always peeked from underneath his tattered striped shirt.

Kreetbo walked down the ramp and stepped right in front of me, the tips of our noses almost touching. "Whatcha got there, grease-grot?"

"None o' yer business."

He snorted. "I'm a merchant, everything is me business." He stepped around me, trying to get closer to the power klaw.

"It's mine," I said, shoving him away with one foot. "Get yer own loot, ya sticky-fingered dolt."

"I never said it wasn't yours, chum," he said, taking out his grot gun and pointing it at my forehead. "I just wanna take a look at it, maybe even trade it, y'know? I get the klaw, you get to keep yer life, somethin' like that."

That actually was so hilarious, it made me cackle out loud. "Kreetbo, ya do know that if Zapgrod finds out his keyboard grot is dead he's gonna come after you, right?"

The self-appointed grot merchant cocked the gun with a smug look on his face. "Wot if he doesn't find out?"

"Is a battered old power klaw even worth tryin'? Ya wouldn't even be able to fix it without my help."

He blinked, looked above my shoulder, then back at me. "Whatcha need it for?"

"I told ya, it's none o' yer—"

"Quit the charade, stupid," Kreetbo barked, tapping me on the skull with the barrel of his slugga. "I'm tryin' to make a deal here. I don't have all day, and ya don't have it neither, I'm sure."

"Wot d'ya fink it's for? It's for Zapgrod," I said.

I noticed something in his left eye, a slight twitch of the brow. "Somefing tells me that's balls."

"Ya wanna go and ask him yourself?"

"He's at the command deck with Kaptin Peechblack today."

I couldn't help but drop my dice face out of surprise. "How'd ya…"

"I've got eyes 'n' ears everywhere, chum. I ain't no isolated nameless grot like yerself. But there's no problem - I can wait till he comes back, and then I'll have a word with him about your… side project."

I gritted my teeth, thinking of what that would've entailed. Zapgrod was probably going to use me as a fuse for one of his voltage tests or something involving electricity in a similar fashion.

"Fine," I said with a sigh. "Someone's stealin' my stuff back at Zapgrod's shack, and I was lookin' for a way to snag him."

"See? That wasn't so hard, was it?" Kreetbo said, his gun still pointed at my head. "Ye're buildin' a trap, then. It's your lucky day, looks like, cuz it turns out I've got one for ya."

"Payin' is exactly what I was tryin' to avoid."

"Ya wouldn't have to pay for it, I just want the klaw in exchange for it."

I scoffed at him. "Yeah, right."

"I'd ruin my reputashun if I lied," he said. "And a merchant's just as good as his reputashun. Trust me, I'm a firm believer in the mutual interest of myself an' the client."

"I wanna see the trap first," I said.

Kreetbo shook his head. "Ya might bonk me senseless 'n' run away with it. I want you to come to my shop at the bazaar deck with the power klaw by tomorrow. The klaw must be working."

"Or else…?" I prompted.

"Or else I'll tell Zapgrod, of course. Surely he'll find a way to teach ya how to type wiv yer teef."

"Why d'ya want this so much?" I asked.

A grin slowly stretched Kreetbo's face. "Let's just say klaws're back in fashion nowadays." Finally he uncocked his grot blaster, put it back in the waist of his pants and spat on his palm. "Ya wanna shake on it?"

I couldn't help but roll my eyes, but I spat on my own hand and shook his. "Deal."

"Awesome, chum," he said, making his way back up the stairs. "See ya tomorrow."

"Least ya could do is helpin' me carry this up," I said, gesturing at the mummified ork arm.

"Sorry, grot," he said with a shrug, "but I'm so out of shape I think I'd just make it harder for ya. Think of it as a workout." That said, he scuttled away, tugging at his coat like he was tryin' to make a theatrical exit like Da Red Gobbo or something.

"Bah!" I said out loud to no one in particular. And then I carried the arm all the way up here. It must've took me two hours at least, it was insane. I started working on the power klaw right away, because I'm a grot with a very strong work ethic. To be fair, the klaw wasn't busted up too badly - whoever had built it had used some thick and sturdy steel. Pulling off the arm took me a while, especially taking out the mummified bits stuck in the chassis. The piston that's supposed to move the fingers only needed a bit of oiling, and I had to replace the arm jack, but that was it. To test it, I plugged the whole thing onto a spare battery I had lying around, and the klaw went kla-klang! Absolutely satisfying.

I finished the job and hid the whole thing right before Zapgrod came back. He straight up went to bed without even sayin' a word, so at least I was lucky on that aspect today. Which reminds me, I need to go to bed, too. I've been writing for hours. I suppose next time I'll let ya know about Kreetbo and our 'transaction'. Hopefully he'll keep his end of the bargain…

See ya next time!