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Offline Ork E Nuff

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Calculating IV
« on: August 1, 2012, 12:34:50 AM »
The conclusion of our protagonist, Zarg...enjoy!

Calculating, IV

+++
Incoming transmission:
Target priority revised, target designation re-evaluated. . .
Target locks disengaged, targeting matrix approved . . .
Terminate with extreme prejudice . . .
Transmission terminated at source . . .

+++
The kommanda bunka was unusually quiet. 

The bulk of the army was still at the cog complex, looting, liberating, pillaging, whatever the Boss would call it, and it was being done.  No sentries challenged Zarg as he came through the big blast doors and stalked the corridors.   Murder was in his eyes, and anyone trying to stop him would know it.  Only the extremely dim would try to interfere with his mission at this point.  And only the extremely dim did. . .

Darg stood like an ork statue before the doors to the war room.  His instructions were clear, only da Boss or his grot would be admitted unaccompanied to the war room; everyone else waited or would be killed.  Simple, direct orders were the best for Darg.  They didn’t make his head hurt.

Darg’s eyes narrowed suspiciously as a hulking figure approached him.  His nostrils flared as he caught a familiar scent; Zarg!  A growl emitted from his throat and he readied his weapons accordingly.

Bold as brass, Zarg marched right up to within striking distance of Darg.  In one paw was his trusty big choppa, still gore-streaked from the battle; in the other, he carried a big kit bag, like the ones used for bulky equipment.  He flashed Darg a sly smile and bobbed his head in deference to the bigger nob.

“Darg, old mate . . . any chance of me gettin’ in there?  Just needs to drop off a few tings.”

Darg rumbled his replay, “No.”  After a moment he added, “In facts, I want ta know whats yuz doin’ here and not out dere wif da Boss and all; and iffn I don’t likes what I hear, I’m gonna gut yuz like da little squig yuz really is. . .”

“Awww, Darg.  Yuz has a wonderful ways wit words and all.  Tell ya what, iffn yuz wants to know whats in da bag, I’ll gladly shows ya, how’s dat den?”

Darg stood considering the exchange.  After what seemed an eternity, he pointed at Zarg and said, “Ok . . . Only yuz put dat squig sticker of a choppa on da deck and step back as I looks in.  Any funny stuff, and I krump yaz here and now and leave yaz skin on the door fer da Boss, savvy?”

“Alright, mate; if dat’s what yaz wants, dat’s whats yaz gets . . . Fine by me,” Zarg answered, all the while complying with Darg’s wishes.

As he stepped back, Darg grabbed the bag and peered into the confining darkness.  Strange noises and stranger sounds emitted from within.  “What da heck is in dere?”  And that was the last thing Darg ever said.

Almost instantly, two distinct sets of gleaming, beady eyes locked on Darg.  A high pitched whining followed by a blood-curdling growl/bark preceded an explosion of teeth, gums, and appetite.  The bag literally burst from within from the combined propelled body masses of two very disgruntled and hungry attack squigs.  Both latched onto Darg’s head and neck areas and began to rend him to pieces before he would even hit the ground.  If he had the gift of sight left, he would have also seen one of his boots in the bag; bait, a scent-giver to the angry fungus.

As the squigs reduced Darg to swallowable chunks, Zarg retrieved the bag, his choppa, and strode into the empty war room.  He chuckled at Darg’s bad luck, and how easy it was to goad him into looking into the bag.  As he crossed the room, he reached into the bag and retrieved the strange silver globe and a couple of stik bombs (just for good measure).  His plan was simple; rig the throne with the orb, adding the bombs of course, and being conveniently outside when it went off.  After the explosion, he would burst in, take out any stunned rivals for the position of Boss, and establish himself as the new big Boss, da Warboss of the Klan.  Then things would be different, they’d be better, more organized, better planned. . .

A sudden sting broke his revelry.  He felt up around his neck.  Must have been a voracious fly or something from the squig pens.  His eyes opened slightly as he registered surprise to find a little dart in his meaty paw.  A dart?  What da. . .?  Then he began to wobble in place, feeling dizzy or mildly drunk or ill.

“That would be the poison in your system, Zarg,” a strange voice off to one side informed him.

Zarg lurched to one side, falling to his knees just short of the command throne.  Willing himself to focus, he squinted at his advisory, trying to figure out who had bested him at last.  His eyes widened slightly again, surprise surfacing for the second time in so many minutes.

“Ggggiiiittzziiit?”  He cocked his head to one side trying to focus on the grot.

“Yes, Zarg.  . .Gitzit,” the diminutive orkoid stated.  But there was something wrong with his shape, he seemed a little bigger, a little more confident, not quite right. . .”I used that name for a long time, ensuring that I was always close to Skullsmasha and doing his bidding; especially difficult given that I had to first kill the real Gitzit and be what I needed to be, a grubby little servant afraid of his own shadow.  Rather amusing, don’t you think?”

Zarg gurgled a response.

“Oh, that’s right; it’s now harder for you to speak.  Your systems are shutting down.  Pity. . . I did so enjoy our little duels of will and wit over the last few months.  It was so refreshing to have a thinking opponent, and not one that had to be led by the nose in any direction, like that hulking oaf,” said the Gitzit-thing.  “You caused me a lot of consternation, anguish if you will.  You were different, thinking, probing, calculating . . . and we couldn’t have that.  We couldn’t have you mucking up the operations that are in place.  You see, Zarg, it’s too easy to set up a large, dull-witted ork boss to be the head of a Klan or a WAAAAGGGH.  It’s much harder to deal with a smart one who could realistically spoil years of planning and calculations with their innate ambitiousness.  But, before you go, I want you to know that we did consider leaving you in place and taking over the Klan, but you would have been too unpredictable, too unfettered.  Much easier to dispose of you and keep the dumb one in charge; much easier to manipulate the powers of his WAAAAGGGH than your own.  Oh, don’t worry,” it chuckled,” the map will be safely presented to Skullsmasha, along with my story of how you had tried to keep all the information for yourself and that you tried to kill him there and here.  One might be truer than the other, but you’re not going to be in any shape to refute it.  Oh, and please don’t waste your time trying to lift your choppa, by now you’d be lucky to push a button, let alone pick and win a fight.”

A button . . . The sly smile returned to his quickly slackening features.  Drool dribbled out from the sides as he lifted the orb and pressed the studs on the surface.

Though Zarg couldn’t register it, the Gitzit creature’s features lit up in amazement and shock.  He instantly recognized what Zarg could not; the device wasn’t a conventional bomb, but an experimental device.  Curse those stupid magos, he fumed; they’d constructed a proto-type vortex device.  As he realized what was going to happen, a singular light and sonic boom filled Zarg’s lifeless paw. 

Zarg gazed into the light in his palm and thought for the briefest of moments that he saw something slither across it.  What he thought was an illusion was rapidly becoming a reality as a tear in the continuum allowed something to look back.  It might be caught in the expanding sphere, but anything touched by it was instantly transported to its realm.

Gitzit backed away from the device as quickly as he could.  Already it had expanded and devoured Zarg and most of the command throne.  As he backed away, he startled himself by bumping into something big, and distinctly orkish.  Glancing up he peered into the ever puzzling lenses of Skull taker’s hood.  Lightning reflexes allowed him to catch the front of Gitzit’s coat and lift him up, all the while the sphere of light and hunger expanded outward.

Judging from Gitzit’s frantic gestures and screeches, the light must be dangerous.  Skulltaker cocked his head and studied the sphere and his diminutive prisoner.  Close up, Gitzit was all wrong; there was something distinctly human about him.  That was, of course, wrong to him.  Gitzit flailed and wailed to be released and away from the sphere.  It was then that Gitzit made a fatal mistake.  Gathering up all his courage, he swung his weapon up towards the ork he believed to be occupied elsewhere.  His mistake.

Skulltaker saw the weapon being brought up to bear and reacted accordingly.  He deftly tossed Gitzit up and caught him by the feet, all the while swinging him towards the sphere.  Screams and thrashing were suddenly cut off as the upper half of his body disappeared within the light and the lower half was carried around and dropped on the floor.

Silence was all that was left.  Any sign of Zarg was gone; he had seen him enveloped into the light.  The Boss’ favorite throne was gone, his favorite grot was gone (who might not have been a grot at all), and one of his favorite nobs was gone as well.  Not a good day to be a favorite . . . Lucky for him, favoritism was never needed.  He just needed to do his job better than anyone else around. 

This would take a lot of explaining and showing the Boss.  Not known for his patience or gratitude, he would probably have to make himself scarce for a bit.  But, not to worry.  It was usually part of his calculations anyway.
+++
Outgoing transmission:
Contact failure continuing. . .
Contact protocols are in place . . .
Verifiable evidence of mission completion non-evident . . .
Long range surveillance required; re-calculating and purging of data stores initiated . . .
Transmission terminated . . .

+++
Blood n Guts is nuffin more dan bio-d-gradible axle grease.....Remember, that which does not kill you, will only try harder the next time...I've named me attack squig "Skippy"....is that wrong?

Offline SKEETERGOD

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Re: Calculating IV
« Reply #1 on: August 1, 2012, 09:20:14 AM »
A great read and a good story, as well as a surprise ending. Two thumbs way up.
"It needs but one foe to breed a war. And even those who have not swords can still die upon them" (Lady Eowyn)
     We orks are not about being the hero; We orks are about being the mob.
                         
Quote from: angel of death 007
Skeetergod: (adj) A crazy fascination for all things combustible mixed with an unhealty lust for red paint. see also Speed Freak

 


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