Ladies and Gentlemen - a tank battle! Our first warrior, from the bleak icecaps at the bottom end of the world:
When we offered an invitation to Antarctica's first sovereign state in 2062, they pompously dismissed us as barbarians. One long (and completely coincidental) winter without electricity later, however, the survivors were all too keen to get into the spirit of things and build a monster that reflected the harrowing cold that stole their loved ones. The outcome, Glaciosaurus, is as pitiless as it is massive. An antarctic ankylosaurid, heavily nano-engineered to survive a blood-analog temperature of -50*C, this bleak dinosaur is armed with liquid nitrogen pressure hoses to complement the huge boom-mounted saw it carries on its frosty back.
Size: 25 feet long, and weighing several tons.
Speed: Slow - antarctically slow. But resolute as a glacier. And the tail can get a move on too - so watch the fuck out for that club.
Offense: That giant crane-mounted saw isn't just powerful - it's absolute hirling madness. That blade will go through almost everything we throw at it.
Defense: Can't fault Glace here - the skin and bony nodules make an excellent defence system.
Temperament: Short sighted, hungry, unaware what day it is.
And againt Glaciosurus, from the trenches of Ypres:
Field Marshall Kitchener, being a major shareholder in the Zoofights corporation, was a natural invitee for a competitor slot in the tournament. His team of trench veteran palaeontologists and military engineers got along swimmingly with our laboratory staff, and produced Killobite: not a misspelling of Kilobyte, but a Trilobite that kills. An eighteen foot trilobite, with WWI tank tracks, iron plate, a 57mm cannon and mustard gas vents, all controlled by a half-ton vacuum tube thinking engine. Relentless, stalwart and laden to the modified gills with british steel, this leviathan is only constrained by its extremely limited capacity for thought.
Size: 18ft long
Speed: Pretty nippy and maneuvrable - if clanky - in close quarters.
Offense: Where shall we start? That constant cloud of tear gas is pretty savage.
Temperament: Bloody, bold and resolute.
Ladies and gentlemen, there has been a SURPRISE CHANGE to the fight billing tonight!
Rather than taking place in the main arena, tonight's battle will, for your viewing pleasure, take place atop A MIGHTY SPACEBERG!
Sometime last night, the Arthropod Alliance bulk carrier Myrmidon returned from the Oort cloud, towing with it a huge ice boulder to use as reaction mass for the hundreds of fusion drive craft that are parked here for the duration of the tournament.
Until it becomes necessary to carve it up for fuel, we've decided to tether the spaceberg to the outside of the station, where it will provide a majestic view to those standing at the observation deck of the all-species bar.
We've installed a generator in the heart of the boulder to provide nominal gravity, while a soft energy field has been set up to retain a thin but breathable atmosphere for tonight's combatants.
Our crews are out there now, cold-welding the anchor chains to the surface and setting up cameras for tonight's bout. So bet hard and drink harder, and I'll expect a packed bar tonight.
Good evening ladies and gentlemen, and for those of you not watching live from the all-species saloon, we're bringing you pictures straight from the action - from two whole cameras, no less!
Our contenders have squared up on the prongs of a colossal tethered spaceberg, lit by the glow of the saloon where degenerates, millionaires and mutants press themselves against the glass to watch.
Cold sunlight glances off ice and steel, and the noxious mists of killobite's exhaust system roll across the barren worldlet... It's fightin' time.
As the spacehorn blows to signal the start of the fight, Glaciosaurus begins a resolute march up the steep slope of broken ice. Killobite maintains his firing position, mercilessly lobbing shells, bullets and tracer fire at the advancing dinosaur, but he does little to slow its progress.
The battle seems eerily silent to the onlookers in the saloon - the only sound they can hear is the raucous wagering and cursing of their fellows. Even this racket, though, is nothing compared to the storm of sound raging inside the spaceberg's pocket atmosphere.
Bone is chipping and metal denting, and despite his relatively outdated WWI ammunition, Killobite seems to be whittling away at Glaciosaurus. But Killobite, despite his somewhat dim presence of mind, is British to the core and not a beast to win a war through wittling...
The primordial invertebrate fires up his clanking diesel motors, and opens the throttle to spin up his tracks. Dirty ice thrown up by the treads makes a pair of lingering arcs in the low-g battleground, twinkling in the light of the station floodlights.
Killobite lurches forward at first, then builds up steam and is soon proceeding downhill towards the advancing ankylosaurid at quite a clip. The pitiless dinosaur bellows hoarsely, creating a torrent of mist and drowning out even the sound of Killobite's engine.
Engine and Dinosaur grow louder and louder, until only feet remain between the giants...
In an impact that shakes ice loose from the berg's larger peaks, the two biomechanical tanks smash into each other at full speed. Killobite sticks to the ground like a wedge, driving the larger beast up onto its upper shell, and gushes forth a great blanket of irritant gases.
But Glaciosaur takes the initiative immediately, forcing a heavy foot down on the trilobite to pin it, and then bringing its monstrous boom saw to bear...
With a sound like an anvil fucking a bus in a scrapyard, Glaciosaur bashes one gun turret clean off Killobite.
Seconds later the circular saw connects, sending up a fountain of sparks as it bites deep into the British armour.
The armoured reptile hauls itself further onto its adversary's carapace, and batters legs, gills and eyes again and again with its brutal club of a tail. All the while, it continues to grind deeper with the saw, until black ichor begins to leak from the rent.
The bookeepers are beginning to count out winnings, when the sound of a shell loading into a breech is clearly heard over the audio channel from the 'berg. Could it be that the Devonian Dreadnought saved one, last special shell for such a moment as this?
Fucking right it is. Shockwaves echo round the tiny world, as Killobite lets rip with its last shell, and Glaciosaur is shot clean through. In the minimal gravity, the force of the shell propels Glaciosaur out past the thin haze of atmosphere, and into the tragic realm of the Loser's League. The vacuum makes short work of the dinosaur's lungs, but his brain functions for some time in the deep cold. Ladies and gentlemen,