Shipping goods from the game to the World of Warhammer

Before Rhodes could even give the order for the officers to open fire, the Christina was hit by a second impact, and the entire ship was tossed about.

This time it wasn't artillery fire. On the holographic projection, the crooked little asteroid warship had already overlapped with the Christina's hull, and the band of orcs had directly rammed it with the ramming head of the megalithic ship.

The entire flagship was thrown sideways by the impact. The energy shield of the Void Shield burst out with a blinding blue-white arc of light at the point of impact. Then, the No. 3 and No. 4 Void Shields on the starboard midsection collapsed almost simultaneously. The ship's armor, which had lost the protection of the shields, directly withstood the powerful impact. The metal shell was squeezed out with a dent several meters deep, exposing the internal structural framework.

Everything in the bridge that wasn't secured to the deck flew into the air. Data panels, cups, toolboxes—Lillier's folding chair, which had already been kicked over once, drew an arc in the bridge, nearly hitting a communications officer on the head.

Aliya gripped the edge of the tactical platform tightly, her boots scraping two marks on the smooth deck before she regained her balance; Liriel wasn't so lucky. She crashed into the bulkhead on the side of the bridge, her back hitting the wall first, followed by the back of her head, letting out a less-than-elegant groan and a string of even less elegant curses.

Rod himself stumbled, his left shoulder slamming hard against the metal armrest of the navigation console. The dull pain of bone hitting metal made him grit his teeth.

For the Greenskins, this isn't even a tactic. If their ship isn't completely destroyed after ramming it, they can turn around and ram it again. After the battle, they can piece together several wrecked warships to form a larger, uglier, but stronger warship, and then use this stitched-together ship to rob the next batch of unlucky souls.

However, Rhodes doesn't really have the right to mock the Orks' "I think" technology. The stuff he pulled out of his own system—creating exponential chickens on agricultural planets, having StarCraft SCVs repair the bodies of Warhammer's Mechanicus—he haphazardly dumped products from different universes and races into one pot. This is essentially no different from the Orks welding an engine crooked by fifteen degrees and still thinking "as long as there's an engine, it can run."

The pot calling the kettle black; neither side should speak for the other.

"Warning! Multiple intrusion signals detected! Unknown life signals detected on decks three through seven, in the cargo hold area, engine room, and ammunition depot side corridor! The number—and the number is still increasing! The transmission source is located at the enemy ship's hull. The short-range amplified transmitter frequency has extremely high accuracy deviation, and the transmission landing point is random!"

On the holographic screen, the Christina's hull perspective was densely covered with red markers. From bow to stern, intrusion signals were marked almost every two or three sections. Those green-skinned lads were like a swarm of green ants, randomly tossed into various corners of the flagship like scattered beans.

Those green-skinned creatures didn't crawl in through the impact breach, although some did, but more intrusion signals appeared hundreds or even thousands of meters away from the impact point.

They were teleported in. The short-range teleporter mounted on the orcish megalith has an unknown technical principle and terrible accuracy. The deviation from the target point can be tens or even hundreds of meters. It is said that it occasionally teleports its own people into the vacuum of space or inside solid walls, but the green-skinned boy doesn't seem to care about this.

For them, there was only one thing they cared about: whether there was anything to fight after they teleported there.

Sporadic sounds of gunfire could be heard from below the bridge, the muffled thuds of bolters mixed with some kind of howling, faintly reaching up.

"Everyone, listen up!" Rhodes steadied himself by leaning on the navigation console, quickly glancing at the personnel on the bridge. Several bridge officers had already drawn their pistols, Aria's bodyguard captain ran to her side, and Liriel was still rubbing the back of her head against the wall, looking like she was seriously contemplating life.

"Aliya, take your guards to the engine room. That's the ship's power core; the engines and the Geller force field generator are all on that floor. We absolutely cannot lose them. Take the spare weapons from the ammunition depot, and add all the crew members you encounter along the way to your team."

"Understood." Aliya nodded crisply. The captain of the guard was already gathering men through the communication channel.

"Liriel—"

"Boss," Lillie straightened up from beside the partition, rubbing the back of her head, and raised her other hand with a serious expression, "I have a very serious question to ask."

"explain."

"Can I not go?" Her expression was so sincere it was almost touching. "I have a vacation planned in Craigern Hive. A new spa opened in the Mid-Levels, and I booked it two months ago—"

"If you don't go," Rod said without turning his head, "then your vacation plans for the rest of your life will probably only consist of wilderness survival on this wild planet outside your window. And given the technological level of this planet, your vacation facility will probably be a tree hollow."

Lillier opened her mouth, then closed it again. She glanced down at the wild world outside the window, then at the red warning lights spinning wildly on the bridge ceiling, then let out a long sigh, drew the short-barreled laser pistol she'd bought from Blackwing Harbor from her waist, checked her energy pack, and followed Aria while grumbling.

"I wish I hadn't gotten on this pirate ship."

"The rest of you, split into three groups," Rhodes turned to the officers remaining on the bridge, tracing three routes on the holographic star map with his finger. "One group, go through the port side passage to clean the cargo hold area, the second group—"

He was only halfway through his sentence.

A blinding white light suddenly exploded on the conference projection star map platform in the center of the bridge. The intense light caused several nearby officers to instinctively raise their hands to shield their eyes, and everyone who hadn't yet left the bridge reflexively raised their weapons and aimed them in that direction. The clicking sound of bolts being pulled echoed throughout the bridge.

After the white light dissipated, a tall, green figure was squatting casually in the center of the holographic star map platform.

When Rhodes and the others were there, their height only reached the waist of this venomous boy. His left arm, below the elbow, had been replaced with a mechanical arm stitched together with various metal tools. However, the tech enthusiast would never admit that it was a mechanical arm. It was fixed with a bloodstained surgical forceps, a still-humming miniature circular saw, a metal hook bent at an odd angle, and something that looked like a syringe or a screwdriver. The entire mechanical arm looked like it had been scavenged from the medical waste recycling center and the hardware store's trash can and then screwed together.

This is a boy in excruciating pain.

The subspecies of green-skinned animals that act as "doctors" have "pain" in their names, but they certainly have nothing to do with proper medical care.

Their treatment methods typically include, but are not limited to: using pliers to pull bullets out of wounds, possibly along with half a rib, sewing the severed limbs of different orcs onto another orc, and conducting their own small experiments while treating patients.

As for whether the green-skinned ones were reattached to the same arm or whether the left and right arms were reversed, Pain Boy himself didn't care much.

For this reason, Greenskins generally won't seek treatment from Pain Boy unless absolutely necessary.

At this moment, the boy in excruciating pain crouched on the star chart platform, the circular saw on the mechanical arm still humming, the surgical forceps opening and closing twice with a click. It tilted its head, glanced around, revealing a mouthful of jagged orc fangs, and growled in a hoarse voice, as if its throat were stuffed with gravel:

"Who needs my treatment! I brought new tools! They work incredibly well! Guaranteed to heal!"

It waved the newly welded surgical forceps on its left arm, a small, dark green tissue fragment of unknown origin hanging from the tip, swaying back and forth under the light.

Then its small eyes met Rod's gaze.

It then slowly moved to the muzzles of a dozen or so weapons on the bridge.

A classic look of bewilderment, one that transcends racial barriers, appeared on the green dough of the Painful Boy.

Its eyes looked left and right, and the rotation speed of the circular saw on the robotic arm unconsciously slowed down, and the surgical forceps also stopped opening and closing.

In the silence, the air on the bridge almost froze.

And this boy, suffering excruciating pain, finally came to a conclusion.

"Huh?" It made a confused nasal sound, tilting its head to the side. "You're not...?"

"Hit him!"