Whiteface Mekboyz

At the edge of the shantytown outside Bloodfang Fort stood a huge triangular wooden frame, with a pole more than ten meters long resting beside it. It was a massive thing tightly bound together from thick sticks and planks, with many huge stones piled nearby. This was not a place the boyz often came to. Beside it lay an enormous dung pit and the Mad Fort where the Weirdboyz lived, while behind it stretched the vast wasteland. It was hardly an encouraging place for a complicated machine, but its builders hated the big brutes, and the big brutes hated them.

The towering wooden machine stood like a landmark, looking down over everything around it. The Weirdboyz often stared at it blankly with drool running from their mouths, and its builders had no choice but to put up with that, because it was unfinished. That was exactly the problem.

The Whiteface Mekboyz' workshop was so small, and so crammed with carts and piles of junk, that even the hammocks meant for sleeping were hung over the workbenches. Three Mekboyz oversaw it all. The three of them alone had built such a huge thing, because that was where the smarts were. Smarts often led an Ork to do something great, and Agum was working toward that.

Ever since Boss Guk had come up with some damn sorting scheme, the boyz had formed many gangs in groups of fifty. That was when Agum had become the Big Mek of the Whiteface Mekboyz, at least in his own opinion. He was bigger than the other two, though not as big as the guards or the bosses. Not yet, anyway. But he was growing in that direction, swelling with ambition—the ambition of a Big Mek, like Idea Bro beside Boss Guk.

There were not many boyz in the Whiteface Mekboyz, just a bunch of curious layabouts. Except for Big Mouth, who always loved to howl and got tangled up with Agum over one thing or another. Then there was Shorty, smaller than the other Orks and often anxious about it, but Shorty had lots of clever ideas. "Too many," some boyz might even say.

The day was drawing near, and the Mekboyz were in a foul mood. Shorty sawed wood until it squealed, while Big Mouth pulled nails from his mouth and hammered them in with a huge mallet, occasionally letting out a scream. Agum was racking his brains over his plan, with Gulu, his loyal Snotling chief, at his side. The Snotlings rushed about, their rags marked with the gang's whiteface emblem, born from the unreliable idea that white was a lucky color.

The whole workshop reeked of sawdust and Ork sweat. The iron-smelting furnace roared, and the Snotlings panted as they worked the bellows. Shorty's curses grew louder and louder, loud enough to drown out even the Weirdboyz' strange shrieks outside.

Agum spoke quietly with Gulu, pointing at this pattern or that on a wooden board as they tried to figure out why the throwing arm had no power.

"Shorty's problem."

Agum said this to his helper:

"The pulley system's too complicated. Axles, torsion bars—they fall apart too easy. What's wrong with using boyz to pull it?"

He rested his chin on his fist and sank into thought. The Snotling chief stared wide-eyed, his ears drooping against his head.

"Boss!"

Suddenly, he tugged on Agum's apron.

"Boss, that sneaky git's here!"

Zag—the boss of the Deadly Headhunters and a famous thief in Bloodfang Fort—sauntered lazily into the workshop. The moment he disrupted the chilly atmosphere, the Mekboyz and Snotlings clutched their pockets shut before he even came within arm's reach.

A large mob of Yellow Faces Snotlings slipped out from behind him when he came through the gate and stopped. Agum's Snotlings hurried forward to block them, making sure they would not swipe anything.

Zag put his hands on his waist, frowned, and looked the giant machine up and down.

"Oi, oi, it ain't finished yet, Agum? That won't do. Oh, that's bad. Real bad."

Zag looked at Agum mockingly. His Long Fang had been painted yellow, a color Agum hated. It was dishonest, the color of thieves. Every git in the Deadly Headhunters was a thief.

Zag's gear was good: armor plated with iron sheets, two big choppas crossed over his back, worn boots stolen from who knew where, and a shiny black helmet on his head. It was far better than Agum's helmet, which was full of holes.

"What's that?"

Zag asked, pointing at the long throwing arm. The thing really was thick.

"Put in, throw out. Put in, throw."

Agum made a throwing gesture as he explained.

"Great thing. Throws a boy right out, really far, really high. Proper special!"

"But it ain't finished?"

"A complete mess."

Agum answered shortly.

"That there's where you're wrong!"

Zag jabbed a finger at Agum, looking very pleased with himself.

"We gotta climb, not throw! What's throwing good for? Climb, get it? Hehehe, straight up in one go. Don't think about special stuff, brother. Don't build it. What Grak wants is tough boyz."

It all began with one of Grak's utterly boring ideas. During his time at Bloodfang Fort, he had proposed a contest: whichever boy was the first to climb to the top of Bloodfang Fort would get a chance to join the Blood Axe Group. Everyone knew Grak was the second toughest boss after Boss Guk, and the Ork closest to the core. His Blood Axe Group was full of the toughest brutes around, and they even got flashy big steel red axes.

No boy wanted to miss such a chance. Agum did not either, but he was not the strongest. Bloodfang Fort was tall, and the rocks outside were steep, all sheer slopes. He had no confidence that he could make it up using only his hands and feet, so he needed something to help him.

"I want it finished!"

Agum roared. He truly hated this git, and this place too. They were both stupid and rotten, as if every one of them had a bit of Mekboy in them, always giving Agum unprofessional advice whenever they did not want to build something themselves.

"If you Yellow Faces stopped stealing every last thing, it'd have been finished days ago!"

"Still ain't very good. You can't expect that thing to help when I gotta fight."

Zag snorted, ignoring Agum's furious hopping as he looked around the workshop and judged the value of everything in it.

"Give me time! I'll get up there!"

Agum bellowed, picking up the largest hammer and slamming it down on the workbench. All the Snotlings shrank back.

"Time to get some proper training."

Zag strode toward Agum and got right in his face. The two Orks locked eyes, standing straight-backed. Agum might once have been a Mekboy, but now he was nearly as big as Zag.

A challenge was being issued. The muscles in their huge faces twisted, smoke seemed to pour from their nostrils like fire, their lips curled back to reveal dagger-like teeth, and low rumbles rolled from their chests. The Snotlings all hid behind the worktables.

BANG!

A loud crack came from a workbench not far away, and a cloud of smoke rose up.

"Damn it!"

Shorty shouted as he staggered out from beneath a collapsed shed. A dozen rubber bands were wrapped around his head and arms. His mate—the Weirdboy Nugho—followed behind, muttering incomprehensible nonsense.

"No! Ain't working. Rubber bands ain't strong enough, too much stress relaxation, no—damn it! Useless!"

Shorty jumped up and cursed loudly, trying to free himself from the rubber bands. Nugho tried to help, but only tangled them tighter and got himself caught in them too.

Then he noticed Agum and saw that he was facing off against the Deadly Headhunters' boss.

"What happened...?"

He asked cautiously.

"Oi, oi."

Zag laughed. His body relaxed, and he smugly shook his head while looking up and down at the tightly bound Mekboy.

"What a pathetic sight."

Gulu sighed as he crawled out from under the table. There would be no fight after all.

"Give me a break. Fight a Mekboy? You're too weak, ain't you? Nah, not worth the effort."

Looking for something to fill his pockets with—after all, none of it was his—Zag grunted a few times and turned to leave.

"The important thing is, Boss Grak really appreciates my skills. He said if nobody else can climb up there, then I can join the Blood Axe Group. There's just been an opening."

"Our boss can..."

Gulu began, spraying spit, but Agum immediately interrupted him with a cough.

"Oi, Shorty! Who d'you think you're talking to?"

Zag wore an unsettling smile.

"Boss Grak can do whatever he wants, can't he? He's the boss, not you or your boss. Right, Snotling? You're not just slow—you think above your station. You oughta think about something else."

Zag laughed as he strolled away. Agum angrily stomped after him and blocked the workshop entrance.

"Zag!"

He shouted.

"Give that gear back!"

"What gear?"

Zag asked with an innocent look.

"The one you stuffed in your trousers!"

"Oh yeah! How'd that get in there?"

He patted his leg, flicked his right hand, and tossed a metal gear into the workshop. Big Mouth immediately caught it, while the Mekboy Snotlings around them swarmed the Yellow Faces. They stripped all kinds of odds and ends off them, shrieking and shoving each other as they did.

Zag quickly walked away, vanishing from sight as he passed through the Weirdboyz' streets.

"How can they be like that?"

Shorty looked a little dejected.

"Thieving rubbish! Boss, all those yellow gits are!"

Gulu was furious too. At some point, some bastard had swiped his belt, and now he could only hold up a piece of cloth.

"I said we shouldn't have got mixed up in this. I told you, didn't I?"

Big Mouth had ignored Zag the whole time. He grabbed a water jug from the side and gulped down several mouthfuls.

"Join me, you said. Let's build a big thing!"

He imitated Agum's voice, though very awkwardly.

"Come with me to Blackstone Fort! We're gonna become big shots!"

Pointing at his own nose, Big Mouth kicked Gulu aside before he could speak.

"Idiot, I'm a damn idiot! There's nothing here but dung beetles and stupid Snotlings! It's hot, it stinks! Nothing to kill, nothing tasty to eat! There's a rubbish heap right next door, and we live with those damn lunatics! I ain't slept proper in over ten days! Agum, you're a genius! A damn genius!!"

"I'll finish it."

Agum's voice was remarkably calm.

"I can feel it. We're only one step away. It'll work."

Big Mouth snorted. Deep down, he still trusted this git. It was an emotion without any reason behind it.

"How? The Yellow Faces will come steal every single thing we've got."

Shorty cut in, and Big Mouth immediately followed up.

"And we still can't solve the pulley problem."

He stared at the gears, confused.

"These things don't work. Don't know why."

"What if we use strings of rubber bands instead?"

"That's the problem."

Big Mouth pointed at the huge throwing arm.

"Your idea's bad. This thing's too big. Rubber bands alone can't hold it. It'll fall apart."

"Just one more..."

Agum had remained silent the whole time. He stared into the distance, perhaps at his own ambitions too. Big Mouth nudged Shorty, who was scratching the scabs on his head.

"He's thinking."

"He ain't."

"He is."

Big Mouth was certain. He bared his teeth in a grin. Whenever Agum got like this, he could solve a whole lot of problems.