The scrapyard stood in the southwestern corner of Scrapheap City.
It covered more than ten acres, packed with wrecked vehicles and abandoned machinery.
From above, it was nothing but a dense sea of metal shells.
A gang of Speed Freeks had taken over the place.
Boom!
A shell flew in from the distance and struck the lookout tower in the middle of the scrapyard, a structure piled together from trucks, steel plates, and tyres.
Flames erupted.
Half of a truck with nothing but its frame left went tumbling through the air before crashing into a nearby heap of scrap with a thunderous impact, scattering metal frames and parts everywhere.
The Orks working below all looked up at once.
“What da hell?!” “Who da fuck fired that?!” Before the words had even finished, the second shell arrived.
Boom!
The scrapyard gate and more than ten metres of sheet-metal wall beside it were blown inward together.
Several Orks howled and threw themselves to the ground, covering their heads with both hands.
Thick black smoke poured through the breach and spread deeper into the scrapyard.
Thud.
Thud.
Thud.
Heavy footsteps came from behind the smoke.
A massive mechanical foot stepped over the collapsed gate.
Track plates ground across the sheet metal and broken bricks underfoot, the screeching friction cutting through the gunfire and shouting.
The Super-Invincible Big-Foot Smash King emerged from the black smoke.
The left leg that had been leaking oil now had an even thicker hydraulic piston installed in its place.
Three additional layers of reinforced steel plating had been welded onto the outside, with extra rivets securing the edges.
Two engines were missing from the row in its chest.
In their place was an absurdly thick exhaust pipe that curved upward, belching hot black smoke.
The entire machine still walked unevenly, one side higher than the other, but at least it wasn’t leaking oil anymore.
Blastfurnace stood in the cockpit at the very top, one mechanical hand gripping the control lever while the other pointed forward.
“Fire!” Boom!
The cannon on its right arm flashed.
A wreck fitted with a heavy machine gun inside the scrapyard was flipped over on the spot.
“For da Omnissiah!” A jumble of roars erupted from behind the Big-Foot Smash King.
“For da Emperor!” “Praise da Machine God!
May da machine spirits rain down their wrath!” “Crush da rebels!” Three smaller mechs charged out of the smoke.
The largest was only six or seven metres tall.
The smallest barely stood over four metres.
One had two completely different kinds of legs: a mechanical leg on the left and half a tracked assembly on the right.
Another didn’t even have a head.
Its cockpit had been welded directly into the chest, with two cannons mounted on top.
Behind the three mechs came a large mob of Orks wearing power armour.
No two suits were alike.
Some wore huge green iron shells with a single exhaust pipe welded to the back and additional plates covering everything from the pauldrons to the breastplate, like cheaper versions of Blackfang’s armour.
Some had pauldrons as large as car doors, their shoulders knocking into each other whenever they walked.
Some helmets had nothing but two holes cut out for the eyes.
But every suit of power armour had two things in common.
An Imperial Aquila.
And a crooked XI.
“For da Emperor!” An Ork in green power armour raised his bolter and fired a shot into the sky.
“Smash da rebels!” The thunder of heavy footsteps drowned out the gunfire.
The Orks in the scrapyard finally reacted.
“Enemy attack!” “Grab your guns!” “Where’s da Boss?!” “Get Boss Busted Tyre!” A modified war vehicle started up first.
Its engine surged from idle into a roar.
A ram welded to the front smashed through the scrap pile ahead, while three Orks in the rear bed raised machine guns at the same time.
They didn’t even get to fire.
The turret on the Big-Foot Smash King’s shoulder had already turned toward them.
The barrel briefly jammed halfway through its rotation, then continued moving until it pointed directly at the war vehicle.
Boom!
One shell flew out.
The vehicle became a fireball on the spot.
The cab exploded and the rear bed flipped over.
Of the three Orks aboard, one flew left into a pile of discarded tyres, another flew right into the wreck of a car, while the last was blasted into the air before plunging headfirst into a heap of rubbish, leaving only his legs kicking outside.
Blastfurnace bared his tusks.
“Hahahaha!” “I’ve appeased da machine spirit!
It definitely ain’t breaking this time!” More and more Orks rushed out from deeper inside the scrapyard, converging on the entrance from every direction.
Gunfire immediately merged into a continuous roar, bullets hammering against the pauldrons and breastplates of the power-armoured Orks charging at the front.
One of the leading Orks took a burst of bullets across his pauldron, sparks dancing across the iron shell.
He looked down at the row of pale marks left on his new armour and clenched his tusks.
“You dare shoot my new armour?!” He swung his huge choppa in a full arc.
The flat of the blade struck a scrapyard Ork who was about to fire, sending both him and his gun flying into a pile of wrecked vehicles.
Elsewhere, one of the smaller mechs charged forward over the ruined cars.
Its mechanical claw grabbed half of a wrecked automobile.
Then hurled it.
“Machine God, protect da machine spirit of my armour!” Boom!
The car flattened a group of Orks.
The entire scrapyard descended into complete chaos.
Then— “ALL OF YA, FUCKING STOP!” An enraged roar came from deep inside the scrapyard.
An engine thundered immediately afterward.
A war vehicle with six enormous tyres smashed through the scrap pile ahead and charged out.
More than a dozen iron chains hung from its front.
Saw blades had been welded all along both sides.
At the top stood a flagpole made from stacked tyres.
A more than three-metre-tall Ork stood on the roof.
He wore iron armour cobbled together from wheel rims and chains.
Busted Tyre.
The Boss of these Speed Freeks.
The moment he emerged, he saw the Big-Foot Smash King ahead.
Busted Tyre frowned.
“Blastfurnace?!” Blastfurnace looked down at him and raised a mechanical hand from the controls in greeting.
“Busted Tyre.
Been a long time.” Busted Tyre’s gaze shifted away from Blastfurnace and swept over the power-armoured greenskins fighting the scrapyard Orks around them.
Those Orks shouting about the “Emperor” and “Astartes” wore all kinds of mismatched iron shells.
Yet somehow, they even covered one another while fighting and pulled each other back when retreating.
His expression grew stranger by the second.
“You fucking went and became Astartes too?!” The grin vanished from Blastfurnace’s face.
“Who’re you looking down on?” Busted Tyre froze.
He hadn’t expected that reaction.
Blastfurnace raised his mechanical claw and slapped the cockpit of the Big-Foot Smash King.
“Astartes are da ones who fight!” “I’m da one who works on machines!” He puffed out his chest.
The newly welded cog-shaped Aquila on his chest gleamed with oil through the black smoke.
“I was personally appointed by da Son of da Omnissiah as—” “Archmagos of da Mek Cult!” Busted Tyre opened his mouth.
His upper and lower tusks came together, then separated again.
Not a single word came out.
Blastfurnace didn’t give him a chance to speak.
His mechanical claw suddenly pointed toward the sky.
“Listen!
Da thunder of da Machine God descends upon da rebels!” Boom!
The cannon on the Big-Foot Smash King’s shoulder fired again.
The shell flew over Busted Tyre’s head.
Boom!
Half of a scrap mountain behind him collapsed.
Busted Tyre instinctively ducked his head.
“Where da fuck are you shooting?!” “I’m warning you!” “This is my territory!” “I’ve got more than five hundred Boyz!” “If we really fight—” Clang.
A dull sound came from behind Blastfurnace.
Busted Tyre stopped.
Clang.
Again.
It sounded like something extremely heavy being dragged across the steel-plated ground.
The Orks fighting all around gradually opened a path.
Clang.
An iron ball the size of an Ork’s head rolled out of the smoke.
Short spikes had been welded all over its surface.
A thick iron chain trailed behind it.
An Ork in power armour slowly emerged from the black smoke.
His right hand gripped the chain.
His shoulders were noticeably broader than those of the Orks around him.
An Imperial Aquila was welded to the breastplate of his power armour.
A crooked XI marked his left pauldron.
And around the forehead of his helmet was a conspicuous golden laurel motif.
He walked to the front.
Then flicked his wrist.
Clatter!
The chained iron ball was swept completely off the ground.
It whistled through one full circle above his head.
Bang!
Then slammed heavily back down.
He raised his head and looked across the densely packed Orks in the scrapyard.
“Which one of you—” “is da fightiest?” ————————————————————
It really helps the fic grow!