Round 1 Fight 2


Our head of security, gorillesis, has had to seal off storage bay 10 due to a breach of security and an act of sabotage on contestant number ten. Vital mechanisms were stolen, leaving the largely mechanical competitor temporarily unable to fight. 10 is off the menu til we can get to the bottom of this, guys.


Round one, fight two: The Ale of the Brutes

Weighing in at three tons and standing thirteen feet high, The Murderous Marine Mammal from the Malarial Marshes of Manaus... OHHHHHH THE HUUUUUUUGE MANATEEEEEEEEEE

Not many people know about the British Government's space war with the chinese over opium grown on the moon late in the 1860s, but this embittered veteran will never forget. The Huge Manatee is the only surviving member of a litter of twelve manatee pups grown in a secret installation on the Amazon river and trained for combat in space. Fed steak rather than seagrass and taught to smoke cigars inside an astronaut helmet, this guy has left behind everything that is cosy and pleasant about being a manatee. In an armoured space suit conveyed on two stout piston legs, and armed with a three-shot lead harpoon gun as well as a wrist-mounted chainsaw, Manatee will fight any opponent like he fought the Celestials in Tycho Crater back in '68. 

Top Trumps Scores: 

Size: 15ft tall, three tons in bulk.
Attack: 7/10 – superdense high-velocity lead harpoons and a diamond-tipped chainsaw
Defence: 7/10 – maneuvrable, lead lined and steel-articulated spacesuit with bulletproof glass dome.
Speed: 6/10 - not exactly fast, but a lot faster than you'd expect for a manatee.
Resilience: 7/10 – layers of blubber and a hardass vet's attitude make this guy shrug off major wounds.
Evil: 5/10 – Amoral and jaded? yes. Evil? No. He was just following orders back at Tycho.
Rage: 4/10 – He stopped caring about anything a long time ago.
Likes: Harpoon oil, cigars, the amniotic embrace of swamp water
Dislikes: Remembering the war, the Chinese, and Vacuum.


Weighing in at 1.5 tons each, and ten feet high, The Blundering Brutes from Brunei... TAAAAAPOGRES!

Dudes do not come cruder. These fellows really are loathsome. I don't know who thought it would be a good idea to inject Malayan Tapir cells into those Ogre eggs we had lying around in the archive, but I hope they're happy now. Our three tapogres do nothing but drink, smoke, and bellow mindlessly like cretins in between belching and honking poorly formed cuss words. They stink, they're hideously aggressive, and they'll look you right in the eye while shitting on your desk. Retarded yet hugely brutal and possessed of monstrous strength, these three sorry brothers will nonchalantly risk everything in order to spoil other people's lives.

Top Trumps Scores: 

Size: 10ft high and a ton and a half each.
Attack: 6/10 – Massive ogre clubs and huge arms.
Defence: 5/10 – Thick tapir hide and muscles like sandbags. Adept at blocking with clubs.
Resilience: 7/10 – A tapir's doggedness, an ogre's constitution. Plus there's three of them.
Speed: 8/10 - fast on their hamlike feet, and good jumpers.
Evil: 5/10 – They're just a bunch of wankers, really.
Rage: 8/10 – Lazily furious at everything, especially when liquored up. 
Likes: Bruting stuff, doing massive liquid farts, shouting their own name
Dislikes: reason


 fuck it, we're cloning the tapogres. there's now six of the bastards. 




Huge Manatee has lit his penultimate pre-battle cigar and stands ready for battle once more, whereas the tapogres have started on their eighteenth keg. 

Moreau is at ringside with a wheelbarrow, Bill Cutter and Al Swearengen are ready with microphones (and if anyone wants to take the mantle of either of them and do some commentating, please send me a pm and be my guest), and the Ripper is nowhere to be seen.

Organs and mechanisms keep disappearing from the maintenance bays, but repair and upgrade work on steamcrab is going swimmingly, and competitor ten is in better shape, although still not ready for combat.

In fact, everything seems to be going well until... 


A team of workers carrying out standard maintenance work down in the storage bays have been struck dead in the vicinity of the crate containing competitor Twelve. The crate was sealed, and there are no wounds on the workers. They simply dropped dead. Attempts at opening crate Twelve have been unsuccessful, and so bay 12 has been sealed off until further notice, with orders for quarantine.

Catch you for the battle, sports fans.


The first Tapogre out of the gates has his drunken yell of excitement cut short by a wet, thudding sound. The match is on. One down. As he probes in confusion at the lead rod through his head with increasingly weak hands, his brothers cluster in the shadows of the entrance corridor and honk warily at each other. The manatee is in plain sight, standing on the bare sand floor of the arena in a circle of light as thousands of money-clutching spectators peer over the rail for a view of the action.

After a minute of loud deliberation, the Tapogre team goes quiet. With a unified bellow the five remaining beasts launch across the arena floor to rush their opponent, huge kapok clubs waving in the smoky air. One goes down to a stomach wound from the manatee's second harpoon and collapses into a bleeding puddle, while the other four close undeterred...

The manatee suddenly launches into action, lunging to meet the first attacker with low shoulders and wide arms. The carriage-weight brute leaps with legs like steam hammers, but Manatee tracks his trajectory with the unwavering point of his harpoon cannon. At the apex of the jump the cannon fires with a sickening concussion and a splash of shredded innard flumes from the back of the attacker. Two Down. The Manatee twists and sends the limp corpse into a broken somersault with its own momentum, spinning on a piston leg to face the next attack.

Merely three seconds after the first leap, the second manatee is in the air with murderous intent. The Lunar Veteran, still reeling from the momentum of the first assailant, follows through his pirhouette with a lunge from his diamond cutting blade. The cutting teeth backed by the enhanced strength of the pneumatic suit send the armoured flipper straight through the lower abdomen of the Tapogre, chewing up its insides in moments. Three Down. Wrenching the bloodied limb free, the manatee lets the body drop and waits for the two mobile survivors to make their move.

The bewildered brothers honk in terror and flee, turning their backs on the snarling sea mammal. The Manatee is on them in three hydraulic strides, cleaving an arm from a shoulder in a brutal, sweeping uppercut from ground level. Four Down.

While pursuing the final fleeing Tapogre, the manatee stops to crush the skull of the gutshot tapogre with a merciful iron foot. Five Down. Seeing his fifth brother's brain smashed to pink paste, the final thug drops his club and quivers in terror, making tragic wailing noises through his big silly nose.

In a stunning display of arrogance, the Huge Manatee slowly and calmly disengages himself from his powered exoskeleton and climbs out unarmoured, years of intense physical training allowing him to waddle slowly along on land towards his quailing adversary. The tapir cringes: the manatee rears, reaches back like a pimp, and slaps the Ogre Hybrid. There is no coming back from that. The tapir passes out through booze, shame and fear and is quickly dispatched when the Manatee gets back in his suit and takes a saw to his throat. Six Down.

Manatee unhooks his arms from their weapons and reaches for a victory cigar...

Oh yes, I forgot to mention..... we sort of cloned a seventh tapir.