Happy Sunday, Sports Fans.
Back on Wednesday, I announced I'd be kicking this blog off with a one-off zoofight between former contenders from other tournaments. I got some ace suggestions as to what it should be, both here and on the ZF Forum, and ran a good old random number generation to pick which one to start off with.
I say "start off with", because I feel like doing most of the suggestions at some point, but I had to start somewhere.
And so we'll begin with...
To give you a brief intro, Tangaloa was a semifinalist from Zoofights IV who got brutally one-shotted by eventual tournament winner Ned Killy on the surface of Mars. It was seen as a bit of a waste by many fans, since Tangaloa was a goddamn sperm whale with a hammerhead shark's brain, a magma cannon, an Easter Island Moai as a club and some totally sweet Moko tattooes.
Forum user Jumpropeman certainly thought Tangaloa deserved a second shot at glory, and suggested the most appropriate brute to pit him against would be Mr. Atlantic, a beefed-up orca with troll limbs and a fratboy attitude (see bottom of linked page) who made his zoofighting debut in Zoofights II, the tournament that we don't really talk about anymore.
Personally, however, I think this is a pretty one-sided matchup... so I've changed the circumstances a little.
Tangaloa stands on top of Olympus Mons, his epic lungs as at ease with the ghostly scarcity of the Martian atmosphere as they were with the crushing depths of the Pacific. His huge stone club lies before him and the nozzle of his magma cannon sublimes steam as he awaits his dawn confrontation with Ned Killy.
But he has another trial to face first.
Eyes like smouldering coals snap open beneath slablike tattoed brows, and reflect engine light - a decrepit cargo lifter is touching down 300m away, its back-facing freight ramp already lowering.
In the ancient craft's cockpit, a small cell of deranged Zoofights II fanatics hoot and wave their arms in joy as their nominal leader slams a red button labelled "LETS PARTEY". Zoofights security is hours behind them, and nothing can stop the unscheduled fight they are about to unleash. Their underground movement has scrimped, saved, killed and died to make this moment possible, and now it's their time to shine.
Soaring high in the weak Martian gravity, not one, not two, but three troll-limbed killer whales come bounding from the ramp of the battered freighter with murder in their eyes. Trained secretly as a team in a deep-space centriguge and fitted with pirated copies of the same cetacean-pattern oxygen shunt that keeps their foe alive, they are as eager to prove themselves as their unhinged sponsors are.
Will the statue-wielding leviathan Tangaloa best his attackers and go through to suffer the tragic death that history has allotted him, or will The Brothers Atlantic finish him off even before the end of the long Martian night?
Sports fans, it's up to you decide. Whoever wins, whales lose.
VOTING WILL LAST FOR A WHILE, I'LL PROBABLY DO THE FIGHT TOMORROW