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Round 1 Fight 7

From the blasted uranium mines of the Austral Badlands...P-P-P-PROOOOOOJEECCCCCT K

Originally designed as a guard animal for the penal colonies mining nuclear fuel for Britain's lunar war effort, Project K is a beast of terrifying energies. What was once a koala has been metabolically tweaked into a seething hive of hormones and stimulants: constantly growing, moulting, healing and ravening for meat to fuel its absurd metabolism. Since the abandonment of the Uranium mines after sustained chinese airship bombardment, the beast has been living feral in Australia's red centre for years, growing more twisted and vicious with each meal of parched lizard flesh. Now, riddled with tumours and scar tissue from years of exposure and unstable biochemistry, it has never been more ready to kill.

Top Trumps Scores: 

Size: Eight feet long, 600lbs.
Attack: 5/10 – Sharp claws and a festering mouthful of bacteria and needle-sharp teeth. 
Defence: 5/10 – Bunched and steely muscles, coarse hair and fast movement.
Speed: 8/10 - Climbs like debt, leaps like panic.
Resilience: 6/10 – Although it isn't built like a tank and is riddled with cancers and badly healed wounds, project K will likely still be fighting on for a few minutes after death due to the ludicrous amount of stimulants in its system. 
Evil: 3/10 – It needs to kill, but as such is only a slave to its conditioning and programmed instincts.
Rage: 10/10 – Words are not enough. You have to see it attack a scarecrow.
Likes: Meat Kill Leap
Dislikes: Cancer, Sand in the brain.


From the twisted swamplands of the deepest Amazon,THHHEEEEE MEEEEEESSSSSSSSSSSSS!

This terrible creature has been recently shipped from the black jungles of Amazon Peru, where it had been terrorising British Oil interests for years. Swooping out of the dark and grabbing men with claws and tail, the beast evaded all capture until our deployment of classified legendary figures to bring it to heel. What we discovered upon the capture of the beast was a dread amalgam of Jaguar, Macaw and Anaconda, held together and given demonic energy by dark tribal magicks. Locals under heavy persuasion revealed the Mess had been constructed by a cabal of desperate shamans, looking for a last ditch deal with their brutal swamp gods in order to protect their ancient hunting grounds from the rightful process of colonisation by Europeans. The result is frankly chilling. It moves with a horrific energy; serpentine coils surging oleaginously while the suggestion of whispering voices flicker in the shadows behind the observer. Fat, dangle-legged insects whine and bob in the shadows that pool unnaturally around its body, and the sound of children crying can be heard in the depths of its guttural shriek of a voice.

Top Trumps Scores: 

Size: 30 feet long, 1000lbs.
Attack: 5/10 – Along with an anaconda's crushing coils and a jaguar's frontal weaponry, a host of disturbing psychic attacks come into play from the Mess' vudu heritage,
Defence: 5/10 – A great talent for writhing and slipping into shadows, plus the flapping of great wings to block attacks.
Resilience: 7/10 - More relying on occult forces than meat and bolts to stay together, this beast will last and last.
Speed: 6/10 - It flies silently and devilishly fast, with the reflexes of a cat and the dexterity of a macaw.
Evil: 8/10 – Ancient and foul spirits of the blackest marsh have been conjured to fill the veins of this abbhoration.
Rage: 7/10 – The fury of forgotten water devils, the sorrow of a dying race, the sheer capacity to be a total dick of a macaw.
Likes: Blood sacrifice, stagnant pools, Mel Gibson's 'Apocalypto'
Dislikes: Compromise, Colonialism, Being taught to say "who's a pretty boy, then?"


Dear Diary,

The men in white coats told me that I'm coughing up blood because I have something called consumption. They're telling me it's pretty bad but I'm used to hearing things like that because I already have two awful diseases. When things get really bad they lock me in a separate cell, away from people. The two drunks who burned the rhino who had the tiger-hands never talk to me. I think they're scared, but at least they don't throw things at me like everyone else did. I'm dizzy a lot.

I've been having a lot of bad dreams lately when I go to sleep. I don't know why. I don't like going to sleep, so I try to avoid doing it as much as possible, but sometimes I cough and vomit so much that I pass out and then I have really nasty nightmares where I'm all alone in the world, but it's not really the world, it's just a bunch of sharp towers made of swirling colors and pain. Sometimes the towers speak to me, and when they speak to me they tear my skin off and yell at the ravaged, bleeding pink thing underneath. I don't want to hear what they say but I can't cover my ears because it hurts too much to move and when I try to sometimes pieces of my flesh fall off of my skeleton and it gets really cold and then these little needle-thin bugs come along and take the falling pieces away.

The towers tell me that tigers eat badgers and rhinos crush badgers and that sickness is my god. A tower draws Groucho on my brain and I can feel all of the agony he went through when he was dying after that last fight. Then I'm on fire, but I'm my old house, and my mommy and my daddy are living inside me as I'm burning, so I try to get them out by ripping chunks out of my belly and grabbing them but my hands are on fire and so when I grab my parents they burn up while I'm holding them.

After I burn down, some of the other townspeople step all over me and then they rip my beating heart from the rubble. They don't know what to do with it so they throw it in a box and then they march to the top of the tallest, sharpest color-tower and then they stick the box at it's point.

Then I start to cough, and with each cough, a wave of warm, black blood washes over me, until there's no air, and then I cough up the blood, and everything gets blurry and then I wake up and I'm coughing for real but there isn't so much blood, just a few drops. Being sick ruins your teeth.

There's a red handprint on the door to cell #13. That's where Groucho used to sleep. It's been there for a few days. I don't know how it got there, all I know is that I blacked out and when I woke up there it was.

I drew a picture of it.

The words in the picture weren't on the door, just the handprint. I drew in those words because, well...

I miss you, Mr. Badger.


Lilly Limbcake


With the shriek of a monster left in an abandoned open cast mine for ten years, Project K immediately charges into the arena with jaws and claws open and ready to rend his opposition. An eerie silence confronts him as the spectators watch on intensely from on high - soon his ragged, wet breathing is the only sound in the cavernous arena. Seconds pass at length, until a muffled fluttering far above heralds the passing of a winged shadow over Project K's festering form...

Before project K can even begin to formulate a deranged plan of attack, he is brought to his lumpen knees by a brutal psychic barrage from the shadows. Images flood his mind - painful images best left forgotten. Images of blood and torment and dismemberment from his days patrolling beyond the prison walls for escapees. Images from further back; of days spent clinging to his mother's belly in shady eucalypt groves, and the saws and the scalpels and the chemicals that came next. The blasted mines and the ever-droning ore freighters, the scorpions and the ants and the lizards that formed his only sustenance when his masters finally abandoned him. The bodies of his family hung out to rot in the sun until he had grown hungry enough to eat them. As the psionic bombardment intensifies, a single pus-yellow tear gathers below one bulging eye. Could it be that the rage and the frenzy is just a mask, a tragic act to disguise a broken and profoundly sensitive soul?...

NOT FUCKING LIKELY. In a fit of adrenaline and fury, the poisoned hulk shreds the mass of invasive thoughts and puts his mind to the sole task of slaughter once more. The Mess - having sinuously glided down to feast on its prey during the psychic assault - realises that its attack has fallen on a brain too brutal for sorrow, and quickly turns tail to flee for the shadows...

But not quite quickly enough. With the nearest thing it can muster to glee, Project K launches itself into the sky with ballistic force, ragged black talons grasping for the wiggling tip of the anaconda tail as it licks the air twenty feet above the arena floor. As the beast ascends in a panic, the koala grimly climbs hand over hand up the writhing serpent...

In a monstrous orgy of hatred and brute strength, Project K dismembers its adversary in midflight. The snake's belly is slit open to rain guts on the crowd below, while feathers are torn in clumps from its beating wings. At the apex of the arena, the crazed marsupial rips both wings from their sockets and hurls them into space without a care in the world. The wrestling beasts plummet in freefall, and the triumphant Project K finds enough time to tear open The Mess' skull and guzzle its brain before the ground is upon it. Then, with a colossal thud, the fight hits the arena sand. 

A minute passes, and then a blood-soaked grey arm emerges unsteadily from the impact crater, followed by a body full of broken bones and leaking organs. Project K rises to his feet. In the cheering and the fanfares and the celebratory cannon shots, no one looks closely enough to see the tear still resting on the rim of his one good eye.



In other news, There have been dire energies emanating from Vault 12, causing communications systems throughout the arena complex to crash (as I'm sure many of you witnessed during this fight).

Obviously number 12 was originally scheduled to compete in tomorrow night's battle, but we're having trouble even getting down to the storage bays without losing whole teams of crew to mysterious accidents, and so the quarantine continues. We can only hope that Jack gives us the parts we need for number 10 in order to bring it online, so that we can wheel it out and take the fight to Vault 12.

Our technicians and strategists inform me that if we can finish repairs and the ripper cooperates, we can let number ten loose on friday night and thus conclude round One for better or for worse. Until then, it is a waiting game.

Needless to say though, full entertainments will be provided for tomorrow night - you will not be left in the dark. I'm sure we can scrape up some leftover beasts to battle for your entertainment. Also, at midnight tomorrow after the excitement I intend to reveal the mysterious number 10 - prior to what we can only pray will be his glorious victory over unknown terrors. I suggest you all join me in the arena then to toast his health.

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