Round Two - Loser's League Fight Four - Hyperfauna Versus The Walrus


Ever have one of those situations when you just don't know what to do with something? That's what we feel like with Hyperfauna. We've all sorts of beastie parts lying around down in the Engineering Bay from fighters that have come and gone, but this thing took a nasty beating and we're just not sure as to how we should put it back together. So, we used the spaghetti strategy. We took everything we had and we threw it at the wall. What stuck formed Hyperfauna. We don't know what it can do or what it's capable of.

That, and it's kind of stuck in the Engineering Bay.


The Walrus

We came across some of Temuera Morrison's DNA and injected it directly into the beasts addled brain. The moment the needle was removed, it wound up in the arm of the person who was holding it. The Walrus's brain has been cured of whatever madness ailed him. He proceeded to get up and tell us he didn't need any of our pansy=ass modifications, that he could handle this shit himself. Rather than argue with him, we threw him the keys to the armory. Amazingly, when he emerged, he didn't take that much. We'd have guessed that he'd have at least grabbed one or two doomsday devices, but no. All he took was a couple of ammo belts, an an extra gun or two, some grenades, and a six pack of cold beer. And that hunting knife. We weren't even aware we had something that low-tec in here. He says he got it from some friend on an island or something who used it to hunt wild boar. We'll take his word for it.


Ladies and gentlemen, get to your goddamn seats and get your drinks in you. I'm coming to you live from the fucking surgery bays, where I'm going to follow the action step by step as our boy Once Were Walrus wades in there to sort out this mess before it gets serious.

Put your hands together for our hulking hero, folks - this is our longest and most gruelling fight yet, with no less than eight contributors lending their brains and fingers to the grim task of bringing it to your screens.

The shadows are thick with flies down here, and beyond the rumbling slither of rolling flesh, there is the echoing sound of wings flapping. But just as I can bare the foul fluttering no longer, it is eclipsed by the sound of steel-toe boots on wrought iron.

Something Walrus this way comes...

Surgery Bay 12's entrance hatch flies off its pneumatic hinges, and a savage figure is silhouetted against the harsh sodium light. Brandishing a meaty fist full of high-calibre shells, the No-nonsense New Zealander stares into the dark with eyes like steel golf balls in a plate of steak.

A discordant wave of howling and wet hissing rises like an autumn gale in the darkness, and parts of animals begin to slither forth towards the hatchway...

Hesitating not a moment in the face of the abomination, Once Were Walrus vaults over the rail and into the maelstrom, boots first. With an ululating roar, he unloads an entire clip of ammunition before slamming home into the mass of seething flesh...


He brains boas, ruins rodents, batters bears and guns down gnus. Even the last of the unicorns, cruelly stitched into the wall of flesh, is easily mangled by the raging pinniped...


With a hearty "Fuck You", the Walrus spins on his heel in the middle of the carnage, and delivers a bone-shattering kick to the head of a weirdly pristine swan. He knows not what he faces, but he knows that it's looking at him funny, and needs a boot in the face.

The battling brute keeps his footing in the shifting horror of mauled animals, pumping round after round into every face that looms out of the gore. But from under each ragged pile of dead flesh slither fresh maws and talons to renew the attack, inflicting slashes and gouges even through the Walrus' thick hide...


Wheezing and bleeding, Once Were Walrus makes a desperate retreat behind a pillar to take a breather and down a couple of cold beers. As his enemy reforms from his slaughter and towers in the dark space of the laboratory, he loads his last weapon and prepares to charge in and fight until he can fight no more...

The be-wifebeatered warrior spins from behind the barricade and steels himself, as a tide of heads and dangling appendages surges toward him. A thousand barfight simulations run through the toughened channels of his battered old brain, and he tenses himself for his final scrap...

An avalanche of pulverised, gnashing wildlife hammers down on Walrus, but he stands his ground. Taking brutal bites to his arm and flank, he hunkers down and yanks the pin from his remaining grenade.

With one last burst of world-weary, post-nuclear strength, he powers into the mountain of death and vaults up its side, wheeling his arm back and stuffing a grenade firmly into the gullet of a messed-up lion.

He is already hard at work pulling handfuls of guts out of Hyperfauna, when the grenade goes off - a wet thud that sends a plume of pulverised flesh twenty feet in the air. It won't stop the beast, but it's bought walrus another few seconds of struggle...

Siezing his moment while the mass of flesh is reeling from the explosion, Walrus sprints through the tangle of snapping jaws to the objective he has been trying to close on since the start of the fight.

Never wanting to repeat certain historical incidents, we outfitted every surgery bay on the station with an incinerator system - a series of infra-red lasers programmed to train on necrotic flesh-masses and heat their centre to a temperature hot enough to vapourise steel

But will he get to the button with his last ounce of strength? Will he last long enough against the monster dragging him down?...


By overwhelming popular demand, ladies and gentlemen, it is my privilege to present to you, the victor of this, the concluding fight of the loser's league's first set, Once Were Walrus!!!

And there we have it, sports fans - we have 8 winners and 4 losers moving on in the tournament, and a lot of bets to settle. Stay tuned for an importrant announcement...

I'd get your drinks in while you can, because right now we have crews out all over the outside of the station, securing tow cables from a fleet of arthropoid bulk cruisers.

That's right, we're on the move. For Round Two, we're going to Jupiter.

Tomorrow night will bring final entertainments and a presentation of events so far, and then we will initiate cryosleep, so get your shit together and be ready to move out!