Zagstruk sat in his big iron chair with skull handrests made earlier, still dripping in places. There was a distinct lack of angry shouting in the forward bunker. The air was missing that usual smack of rotten grotsack instead only mildly odoured by comparison by the two nervous door guards. Clearly no clue what do make of the silence. One cast a nervous glance at the other and whispered quite gruff and loudly, “Oi, do you know who’s coming?”

The other replied with a derisive grunt, “Course I do you blunt-toof bastard. Now shut up!”

The first, clearly more unsettled, loosened his top button a bit, whispering “Why’d he make us wear this Imperial shit-rag anyway? Stinks of u’mies.”

Before the second could even think how to reply it all went cold as the outer bunker door welcomed a shadowy figure. Clearly Ork and yet clearly something different. With purpose and a loud click-clack of heels, he marched to the guards and without breaking stride bid them part. Nervously the guards did exactly that, both looking totally confused as they did. It was almost as if they were compelled to move by the sight of this large, round-capped Ork in a black greatcoat.

Zagstruk sat up watching him approach and welcomed his comrade “Bout fucking time! Where you been? Eating up ‘umies heads I guess?”

The shadowy Commissar barely raised an eyebrow and handed Zagstruk a rolled up parchment. Zagstruk flustered with impatience, unrolled the parchment and a large, disturbingly toothy smile crept across his face like winter over fields. His eye sparkled for a second before the hall got really loud again.

“Mount up you bunch of maggoty entrails, we have a target to ambush! Rally the general’s now before I soggy stump fuck the sodding lot of ya!”

The shadowy commissar grasped Zagstruk by the fleeting arm and held him fast with an iron stare.

“Don’t fail to bring it back. The boss wants whatever is in container 23, and what the boss wants…”