At that time, inside the Governor's mansion, Isuld suddenly fell into a long silence.
Raynor knew another attempt had failed. The same scene had repeated itself over the past few days. Whenever the Sarah-Greenskins entered combat, they were exposed. Sarah's fighting style was too precise and efficient; it lacked the madness, chaos, recklessness, and sheer joy inherent to an Ork. That spiritual indifference meant that when a brawl started, the other Boyz couldn't feel a "sync" with them. They would immediately perceive the Sarah-Greenskin as an outsider. Once that thought took hold, the "Waaagh!" energy would strip away the disguise and reveal their true form.
Sarah had tried to adjust, attempting to be more crazed and chaotic. But her essence was cold and detached; seeking precision and efficiency was an instinct carved into her soul by the Hive Mind, and it could not be changed. Consequently, she chose to actively avoid combat to reduce the probability of discovery.
However, constant avoidance meant they could never be promoted. Outer-circle Boyz who didn't fight couldn't gain prestige, and without prestige, they would never be eligible to enter the core zone. Realizing this approach was going nowhere, Raynor called a halt to the operation and began a review.
After analyzing the results, Raynor felt the general logic was correct, but the execution was flawed.
First, the physiological structure could be even more accurate. Orks were fungal organisms, vastly different from Tyranid physiology. Even if the exterior was identical, the internal essence would eventually give them away. A few times, Sarah-Greenskins encountered "Big 'Uns" possessing their own minor force fields; in front of those enlightened Orks, the anomalies in the Sarah-Greenskins were magnified until they were exposed almost instantly.
Second, and most critically, Sarah could not act out the natural "idiotic energy" of an Ork. Although Sarah now had her own emotions and could understand the feelings of other species, forcing her to fully perform the soulful style of an entirely different race was too much to ask.
"It seems we need a new plan," Raynor rubbed his temples and spoke in a low voice.
Shortly before the rumors of the Mecha Secret Vault began to spread, the second version of the infiltration plan was activated. This time, Raynor did not intend to force his way into existing Greenskin groups. He was going to create an entirely new "Greenskin Clan."
Sarah exerted her full effort to mimic the "fungal spore structure" of the Orks, using Tyranid spores to cultivate a special type of individual. Their skin color was the same as ordinary Greenskins, but their limbs were longer and their movements more agile. They preferred wearing purple clothes and were obsessed with dressing like some sort of assassin from ancient Terra. Sarah had heard Raynor mention they were called "Ninjas" or something of the sort. In short, they were faster, fiercer, more stealthy, and excelled at assassination.
Raynor gave them a name: the Hokage Clan.
The flaws remained. Their physiological structure still differed from true Orks, making a total integration impossible. Therefore, the strategic starting point had to be adjusted. If they couldn't blend into the upper echelons, they would start from the very bottom.
Gretchins.
Gretchins—or Grots—were the absolute bottom of Greenskin society. While some were extremely cunning, their general intelligence was low and their bodies were weak. They were responsible for feeding Squigs, cleaning trash, clearing mines, loading ammunition, and other menial tasks. Their living environment was isolated, their status lowly, and no one ever paid them any attention.
More importantly, the cognitive level of a Grot was even lower than that of an ordinary Boy. Many Grots never left their place of work in their entire lives, making the likelihood of them noticing an anomaly in a Sarah-Greenskin even lower. Even if they noticed something odd, they would just "fancy" that the lad was a bit weird and keep working. They wouldn't spread the concept of an "outsider" as easily as the Big 'Uns.
This was the perfect soil for infiltration.
Furthermore, Raynor decided to take the field personally. In his previous life, he had read a wealth of data regarding Greenskins; his understanding of them was far deeper than Sarah's. He might actually be able to perform that "idiotic energy." The first batch of awakened purple-skinned Boyz would be controlled directly by him through Sarah's consciousness network.
The Ripper's tentacles connected to the bionic war-armor, and Raynor closed his eyes. The consciousness transfer began. He descended into Sarah's neural nodes, then passed through layers of connections in the Hive Mind network, crossing the void to finally enter a brand-new shell.
When his consciousness cleared again, he was no longer aboard the Peak Obsidian.
Raynor opened his eyes and looked at his hands, which were covered in filth. He was nearly nauseated on the spot by the stench. He was lying in a pile of excrement. It appeared to be the droppings of some giant creature—large chunks mixed with rotting food, fermented spores, and other unspeakable things. The stench made his eyes water and his stomach churn.
He struggled to climb up and tested his limbs. He felt stiff and clumsy, like he was wearing a suit of armor that didn't fit at all. This shell had been specially cultivated; to ensure it could blend into the Grot circles smoothly, its initial state was set to be quite weak. He stood only about one point eight meters tall—short for a Greenskin Boy—and lacked developed muscles. His movements were plagued by a sense of latency as he adjusted to the body.
He surveyed his surroundings. This was a massive pen, likely used for breeding Squigs. The area was enclosed by a crude metal mesh fence, and the ground was littered with manure, trash, and food scraps. Squigs were everywhere inside the pen—red ones, green ones, some with spikes, others dripping saliva. Various bizarre creatures rolled in the filth and trash, letting out strange cries.
This was a Squig ranch on the outskirts of Karl-2, isolated from the main body of the station. It was his carefully selected "starting point."
Raynor had only just begun to manipulate this body to walk a few heavy steps when he heard heavy breathing behind him. He turned his head.
A massive red Squig was staring at him. It was over two meters tall, composed entirely of corded muscle, with thick saliva dripping from its mouth. Its eyes were filled with the impulse to "charge and trample."
A Muscle Squig. This was a particularly combative breed among Squigs, possessing a violent temper and a tendency to ram anything in sight. However, it was said their meat tasted quite good—provided one could actually defeat them.
It lowered its head, snorting thick white vapor from its nostrils. After scraping its right foot against the ground a few times, it charged at him. Raynor tried to dodge, but this body was too stiff, moving as slowly as an eighty-year-old woman. He had only taken a single step when the Squig reached him. Raynor could practically smell the foul odor coming off that massive red circular head.
Just then, a pair of thin, weak hands reached out from the side, grabbing his arm and pulling him forcefully out of the way. The Squig thundered past him, slamming hard into the metal fence with an angry roar. The metal mesh deformed under the impact; the strike was so forceful the creature appeared dazed.
The owner of the thin hands took the opportunity to pull Raynor outside the fence. The gate clicked shut, leaving the raging Squig to return to the pen in frustration. Raynor turned around to finally see the "person" who had saved him.
It was a Grot.