Get fucked.

>>40366041
>Look in your trash for a lens-type kind of contraption, uplink to it, and try to scope into the crash event from afar with your enhanced vision.

>>40366041
>Look in your trash for a lens-type kind of contraption, uplink to it, and try to scope into the crash event from afar with your enhanced vision.

>>40366041
>>Look in your trash for a lens-type kind of contraption, uplink to it, and try to scope into the crash event from afar with your enhanced vision.

File: hqdefault.jpg (11 KB, 480x360)

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I look through my crap for some kind of lens - something that will let me see from afar. Aha! This Ork eyepiece should work, more or less. Hopefully.

I attach one of my mouth-cables into a socket, and I slowly start to assume control of just a fraction of the function of this ruined chunk of machinery.

I blink. My left eye has gone blind. Fuck - no, wait wait. I start to see, but the focal point is really far. With my new eye in my hand, I direct it towards the falling thing.

I see it gently soar downwards, pretty far from my little metallic hut, then hit the earth with a thud I could feel from even all the way here. I couldn't calculate how far away the impact was, but it should be quite a bit of a trip.

I try to zoom in the cloud of dust it has created at the impact area.

It looks... vaguely humanoid. It's moving too, and moving out of the crater. I continue to observe.

It's a Dreadnought. Quite an old model too, pretty retro stuff - and a large part of its machinery has been dented by the impact onto my planet's surface. Did he fall here on accident? Was he of Chaos? He seemed... Clean, though. I couldn't guess his chapter from here either, too much dirt and the image quality was really poor. C'mon. Just eight megapixels? I thought I could've gotten more than that from this thing.

>Approach him personally.
>Try to clump together and assemble a little remote-controlled device. Then send it towards him, with a voice uplink. Ask questions.
>Fuck that guy. Go and hide and continue to observe from afar.

>Write in

>>40366380
>Try to clump together and assemble a little remote-controlled device. Then send it towards him, with a voice uplink. Ask questions.

>>40366380
>Approach him personally.

Rolled 1 (1d2)

1
>>40366506

2
>>40366507

>>40366380
>>Try to clump together and assemble a little remote-controlled device. Then send it towards him, with a voice uplink. Ask questions.

>>40366380

>>40366534
>namefag
Kill yourself, faggot.

File: MAIL.png (52 KB, 282x248)

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>>40366518

I make a little remote-controlled scout. Pretty simple stuff, just four wheels and a voice emitter thing - whatever they're called. I look back into my left eye - yep. He's still there, slowly moving though, towards a direction perpendicular to me. I command my little creation to go after him, and I pray for my quick improvisation to not fail horribly. Having to run all the way to where it is from where I am would be such a drag.

It arrived close enough to him, I guessed, for him to be able to listen to the thingy.

"Hello?" I say into a microphone. "Mr. Dreadnought Sir?"

"GREETINGS." he bellows. "ARE YOU MR. TECHIE?"

"Yeah" I reply. "Who're you, sir? the reinforcements?"

"I'M THE MAILMAN" he replied, and then opened his closed fist to reveal a crushed letter. "THIS IS FOR YOU. BUREAUCRATIC MATTERS OF YOUR CONCERN."

"Huh?" I wonder. What was it about? And why would they send a goddamn Dreadnought all the way here just to send me a goddamn letter?

"A-alright" I stammer. "But, what is it about, I mean, it's pretty odd, I've been here for three months and -"

"IT'S THE LAAAW." he interrupted. "THE MAIL. ALWAYS. ARRIVES."

"Yeah but what about the reinforcements?" I counter.

"YOUR PURPOSE AND SAFETY IS SECONDARY."

"Uh-huh."

"PLEASE SIGN THE RELEASE FORM TOO. DO YOU HAVE A PEN?"

"Yeah. Wait there, I'll come right over."

---*----

After a long walk, I reach Mr.Mailman, and I take the letter, as he simply stands there, emitting a soft mechanic hum. "DONT FORGET TO SIGN." he reminds me.

I nod, and I open the envelope to get the message within. Yadda yadda, praise the Emprah, Laws these and these, yadda. So much bureaucratic rubbish. And then came the good part.

"Your attendance to the Central Administrative Office of the Milky Way is required to confirm your arrival to the new planet #1108B. You must sign a Receipt of Arrival Confirmation, in the presence of a Public Notary."

...What?

(cont.)

So, I have to go all the way back to the center of the Empire to sign a paper to confirm that I've arrived to this outer planet?

"And then, return to your post at planet #1108B" it also said.

Fuck my life.

"Mr Mailman, are you sure there isn't an error or-?" I ask

"DARE YOU QUESTION THE ADEPTUS A-"

"Yeah yeah, okay. Nevermind." I reply, and I sign his other paper.

"THANKS." he replied.

"Ok, so...How am I supposed to get to that Office? I'm pretty stranded here."

"THAT IS NONE OF MY CONCERN" he replied.

"Okay. How are you going to return to the Empire then?"

He went silent.

"Yeah, we're stuck here, chap." I reply. "Some bureaucracy we've got."

"THEY'LL SEND REINFORCEMENTS." he countered.

"I've beeen waiting three months for "reinforcements"" I reply.

He goes silent again.

>Take Mailman home, and fix him up
>Bring your repair equipment to him

>Try to extract some robo-goodies from his suit as you repair him, just leave the essentials.
>Don't get anything out.

>Write in

>>40366788
>>Take Mailman home, and fix him up
>>Don't get anything out.

>>40366788
Take Mailman home and fix him
Don't get anything out

>>40366788
>Take Mailman home, and fix him up
>Don't get anything out.
>ask him what's his chapter and how he became a mailman

>>40366788
>Bring your repair equipment to him
>Don't get anything out.

Is this going to turn into "Waiting for Godot - WH40K edition"?

"You seem in pretty bad shape, lad." I tell him.

"YOU'RE ADEPTUS MECHANICUS, CORRECT? FIX ME." he orders.

"Oy, oy. Take it easy big guy, I'll fix you up. Don't try to overexert yourself now, fixing over pressurized vibo-tubes is the worst."

---*---

Once home, I started to try to repair his busted chassis. I didn't really have the best tools, so most of what I was doing was trying to stabilize his life-support first. I had to deactivate most of his weaponry to get spare parts to stop the more vital parts from leaking. His armor was in pretty bad shape, but I believe I can make him live for still quite a long while more, if I focus on the life-support.

"T-THANK YOU." he said, as he sat on the ground in front of my greenhouse, as my tentacles did their job inside the back opening.

"No worries, man." I tell him. "It's what I'm for."

"YOU'VE...BEEN HERE FOR A LONG TIME?" he asked.

"Yeah. I was sent here, for some reason. Then you came, and that's it. "

"WHO IS SHE." she then asked, pointing to my statue.

"Robowife." I chuckle.

"GREETINGS ROBOWIFE." he blurts out.

"Well, she's uhm, not alive."

"MY CONDOLENCES"

"I mean, I built her."

"...THAT'S...HERESY!"

"She's just a statue, man!"

"..."

"OH."

---*---

After getting his tanks and systems to a good shape, we simply decide to sit one besides the other.

"So...What's your chapter?"

"ULTRAMARINE."

"Ultra? Pretty cool. How did you become a mailman?"

"TO SERVE THE EMPEROR."

He didn't seem to like that question, but too curious, I insisted. "...Yes but, it's not the most common thing for an Ultramarine to be a...Mailman."

(cont)

"MY...ABILITY TO FIGHT IS...IN RESERVE. UNTIL I'M NEEDED IN BATTLE, MY PURPOSE IS TO PROVIDE COMMUNICATION SUPPORT."

Ah. I guess I knew now. He was getting senile, so his ability to fight was really bad compared to the other guys. They must have plans to scrap him pretty soon, and until then, they've given him this rather odd job just to keep him distracted. They would loose a lot of expensive pieces if he went out all suicidal into battle, and he wouldn't be able to kill much, being as he is, so the best as to wait until a technician could come to tear him apart.

>Ask about his life as an Ultramarine, and how the outside is going, and how he got here from space in the first place.
>Tell him your realization that he was likely planned to be scrapped.
>Ask him to help you in building some kind of way to get off the planet.

>Write in

>>40367182
>Ask him to help you in building some kind of way to get off the planet.

>>40367182
>>Ask him to help you in building some kind of way to get off the planet.

>>40367182
>Ask about his life as an Ultramarine, and how the outside is going, and how he got here from space in the first place

Telling a senile dreadnaught he's going to be turned into a coaster by his own chapter probably isn't a good idea.

>>40367182
>Ask him to help you in building some kind of way to get off the planet.

>>40367182
>Ask about his life as an Ultramarine, and how the outside is going, and how he got here from space in the first place.
>Ask him to help you in building some kind of way to get off the planet.

>>40367182
>God he got here
Storytiem

File: walkers.jpg (193 KB, 1024x750)

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I had a lot of Ork junk. Tonnes of it. But I couldn't use it in the way they did it - it was like if with just painting a cone-shaped piece of metal, it suddenly became a rocket for them, but in my hands, it was just rubbish I could just barely use. It was so frustrating.

"Mailman" I ask. "...Wait. What's your real name, I'd feel better calling you properly."

"...JUST MAILMAN IS GOOD." he replied. Yeah. He must've forgotten his own name.

"So, Mailman. With your help, I think I can make a large enough vehicle to get us both off of this goddamn place, perhaps onto a nearby planet or at least drift off in the right direction, and into Imperial psyker range. Or maybe a radio device with your intercom." I suggest.

"BUT I'M NOT AN ADEPTUS MECHANICUS. MY PURPOSE IS TO FIGHT. AND...SEND MAIL."

"Don't worry about that, big guy. I'll guide you along the way." I reply.

"...DON'T YOU REQUIRE FIGHTING ASSISTANCE, PERCHANCE? I'VE HEARD THAT OUTER PLANETS ARE FULL OF DANGER. I'VE SEEN ORK MACHINERY."

"None here." I tell him. "There used to be Orks here, or something. They're all gone or whatever. Perhaps they killed each other or they died of hunger. There's nothing to eat here, except, well, what I've been growing in my greenhouse here."

He simply stares back at me. "I WILL HELP YOU THEN. SO THAT I MAY FIGHT AND SERVE AGAIN."

I chuckle. "Thanks, Mailman."

(cont)

File: Ork_Wargear_2.jpg (26 KB, 250x347)

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---*---

Together, for the next few weeks, we start to scavenge and collect more trash. With Mailman's help, I could really make a lot of coarse progress - I even made a welder-arm for him to use. He's pretty good with it, he's got a very good aim and a sense of how warm metal gets. Must've been from his experience of being in that suit for so long, fighting against fire, heat, and all kinds of things.

"I'VE FINISHED THIS PART, TECHIE." he bellowed, quite proud, and excited, having successfully torn apart another Choppa into more manageable bits "WHAT'S NEXT?"

I needed to think of a design.

>A launcher device that would hurl you out of the atmosphere, and via inercia, "glide" in space until you reached somewhere with minimal on-board thrust. Minimum on-board thrust.
>Maximum on-board thrust. It would be hard to get off the ground with this, but once you're in the stratosphere, things should get easier. Getting there is the tricky part.
>Build a large radio-beacon that would yell a signal out into space, by extracting Mailman's short-range intercom and making a huge amplifier. Hopefully, some imperial craft would pick it up. Or maybe someone else. Hopefully not Tyranids. Those fuckers are bad news.

>Write in

>>40367676
Minimum thrust.

Maximum will result in violent death or at least inefficient designe, and dicking around with Mailman's components sounds like a bad idea.

>>40367676
>>Build a large radio-beacon that would yell a signal out into space, by extracting Mailman's short-range intercom and making a huge amplifier. Hopefully, some imperial craft would pick it up. Or maybe someone else. Hopefully not Tyranids. Those fuckers are bad news.

If we have time build
>A launcher device that would hurl you out of the atmosphere, and via inercia, "glide" in space until you reached somewhere with minimal on-board thrust. Minimum on-board thrust.
In case tyranids do show up.

>>40367676
>>Build a large radio-beacon that would yell a signal out into space, by extracting Mailman's short-range intercom and making a huge amplifier. Hopefully, some imperial craft would pick it up. Or maybe someone else. Hopefully not Tyranids. Those fuckers are bad news.

>>40367676
How about assembly in spess?
Ideally, we'd launch some automated probes into orbit over a few days and then meet up with them, slap them together and go rocketing off into wherever we want to go to.

>>40367700
Actually, maximum thrust should produce less g forces than launching out of the atmosphere since it would continually apply downwards thrust, while the launcher would fire us out like a bullet.

>>40367769
>>40367721

Who the fuck is going to find us if we're outside of Astronomican range?

>>40367799
The Chacharodons Astra?

>>40367799
Rogue trader?

Tyranids. Orcs. Necrons.

>>40367774
>>40367721
>>40367700

So, launcher with probes.

Writing

---*---

"WH-WHAT ARE YOU DOING?" Mailman wondered, as I started to do some robo-tentacle work on his back.

"We're going to share life-support." I tell him. "Just for a few days, it shouldn't harm the system too much. I hope. The problem is that you can live quite well without oxygen, food, atmospheric pressure, a toilet, whereas I can't. So I'm going to attach myself to you, just for the few days... or months that we're gonna be in space."

"ALRIGHT, COMRADE." he says. "REMEMBER TO PACK IN A COUPLE EXTRA CARROTS IN MY TANKS IF MY SUIT IS GOING TO FEED TWO FOR A WHILE."

"I was thinking better some mashed potatoes. I've got a few ripe ones at the greenhouse, and they should taste mighty good."

"MASHED POTATOES..." he muttered.

"Yeah, with some salt, that should taste quite good."

"WITH SALT. YOU'RE A GENIUS, TECHIE. NO WONDER YOU'RE A MECHANICUS."

(cont)

File: Deathstrike0.png (276 KB, 511x734)

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---*---

I had built a few probes that where now floating somewhere above me in orbit. If my calculations were correct, the launch-pod we have been building for last few weeks should - in theory - shoot us up far enough for the magnets to attract the probes onto the main shuttle, then allow us to navigate through space as a spaceship proper. I've never really tried this - it was total bonkers, but it beated staying at that goddamn planet for more time. Plus, if Mailman's armor has survived crashlanding into a planet once, it should be able to do it again, if things go wrong. Hopefully.

The day of the launch arrived. The launcher was a crude mangle of explosives, designed to fling us into space in sheer Orkesque style as the main shuttle uses its own meager thrusters to navigate into the probe's vicinity, then have them attach.

Most of the craft's space was occupied by Mailman's armor. I had to disassemble his arms and legs too - I'd reattach them later. There just wasn't enough space for his whole self to fit inside as he was. Scared, and nervous, I sat in my spot besides him, and let a few of my tubes latch onto the minor modifications I made in his armor.

"IS THIS WHAT A MOTHER FEELS LIKE WHEN SHE FEEDS HER YOUNG?" Mailmaid said, as the fluids slowly started to flow out from him, into my basic cyborg systems.

"...Mailman, let's focus on this" I tell him. "Brace yourself."

"ALRIGHT TECHIE." he said. "HOLD ON TIGHT. I'VE GOT YOU."

>Roll 1d100, best of first three. DC:85 for success, 60 for moderate mishap, but relative success, 30 for a serious mishap.

Rolled 17 (1d100)

>>40368164
Let's see what happens.

Rolled 62 (1d100)

>>40368164
Rollin thunder

>>40368164

Rolled 57 (1d100)

>>40368164
baby give me 100

Rolled 22 (1d100)

>>40368164

>>40368223

>Moderate mishap, but relative success

Writing

Rolled 65 (1d100)

>>40368204
>>40367182
Oh fuck no

File: 9916c41c1ef6fe7874e3b1348(...).jpg (62 KB, 1001x502)

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The world became a blur as we blasted out in the shuttle, and I lost quickly consciousness in the frenetic shaking and clanking of our mangled ride.

---*---

"CHIE!... TECHIE!... TECHIE!"

"...ugh...What?"

"YOU'RE ALIVE!" he boomed out. "I'M GLAD. DO YOU FEEL OK?"

"...Yeah..."

"WE'RE IN SPACE NOW."

I look out of the synthetic windows. Everything was black. We were in space! I had built a shuttle all on my own! Well. With help of Mailman, of course. Most of the "ship" was his armored body after all.

"YOUR PROBES HAVE ATTACHED AS WELL." he told me. "OPERATION: SUCCESSFUL."

I look out of the other window, finding a huge, rusty wall. That wasn't my probe, it wasn't this big. We weren't attached to something I had built.

"BOOOOOOYYZZZZZ!" I could hear resonate from the area that the magnetic attachment was. "ORKZA MAED FUR A FIT'N!"

"SHUT YUR YAP WINGAH!"

We were attached not to my probes - but something else made of Ork materials. An Ork ship. They haven't detected that we have latched onto them yet, apparently.

"Uhm, Mailman." I tell him. "We're attached to an Ork ship. Not my probes. Well, this sucks."

"I FAIL TO SEE THE ISSUE, TECHIE." he boomed. "ORKS ARE NEVER A PROBLEM FOR ME, THE MAILMAN."

His torso then leaned side to side. "IF ONLY YOU'D REATTACH MY ARMS, MECHANICUS."

>Make an opening in the ship with the welder to board it. Mailman wouldn't fit through the hole though - at least, not his whole body at once.
>Remain attached to the ship until they landed somewhere. From the outside, you look like just another trashy Ork contraption stuck onto the main shuttle.
>Try to detach and roam space in your own "ship", with the small thrusters you've built it.

>Write in

>>40368549
>Make an opening in the ship with the welder to board it.

File: Ancient_Dreadnought.jpg (122 KB, 876x627)

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MAILMAAAANNNN

>>40368549
>Make an opening in the ship with the welder to board it. Mailman wouldn't fit through the hole though - at least, not his whole body at once.

Gonna have to end it here, it was tonnes of fun though.

OOOORKSSS. I'll continue off with how you try to get into the ship.

Anyhoo

>What did you like most?
>What didn't you like?
>What would you change?

>Make an opening in the ship with the welder to board it. Mailman wouldn't fit through the hole though - at least, not his whole body at once.

File: archive_pic.jpg (77 KB, 925x336)

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http://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/archive.html?tags=Techie%27s%20Intergalatic%20Paperwork

Archived

This is silly. And hilarious. Have an approval.

>>40368808
twitter?