Zoofights Five, Round One, Fight One:


fighting the squid menace

While humanity's governments were crippled during the Seanet war, a guerilla resistance still rages against the Squid from strike bases in the deep oceans. Dreadnautilus is the latest product of this struggle, a cyborg drone built to fight tentacles with tentacles, and entered into Zoofights in the hope of winning supplies for the desperate resistance. Bristling with kinetic weaponry and equipped to fight above or below the surface, this juggernaut is limited only by extreme stupidity - a necessary measure to safeguard it from seanet control. Unfortunately, this means a reliance on constant instructions from radio operators on the battlefield.



fighting civil disturbance

The blunt, pitiless ergonomics of Brut05 have inspired envy throughout the pits. A combat-engineered warthog with towering hydraulic hind legs and twin concrete-shattering assault cannons, he is one of the latest batch of riot suppression units commissioned by an increasingly desperate South African government to solve its post-nuclear problems. From the destitute aliens that arrived seeking refuge after betting away their fuel money at Zoofights IV, to the cy-boer war of '79, this mass-produced bastard has seen more problems than an army of Jay-Z clones. His solutions, unsurprisingly, tend to involve a lot of goring, stamping and automatic weapons fire.

Fight location

To get things kicked off, this fight will be a running gun battle through district Z, the huge slum encircling the Zoofights arena compound. Low walls and rusty iron sheds will be commonplace, as, invevitably, will be civilian casualties.



Dread's going to have to take cover or get up close if he doesn't want his shell shattered in this fight. His inaccuracy won't be much of a disadvantage, since there aren't many decent lines of sight in the slums, but he is probably going to get slightly confused by the density of the terrain. If it comes to an all-out firefight at close range, his tentacles and automatic weapons will deal a horrendous amount of damage.

Brut-os is going to have to split his attention between his adversary and its controlling radio team in this battle, but will dominate if he gets in a superior firing position. With his tendency to smash things, a lot, he will have to be careful not to brain himself on a hovel or something. Up close, he has an advantage in leverage, and won't hesitate to prove it with crippling kicks and shunts.




Dreadnautilus Fights Brut-Os


As afternoon begins to fade into evening, those denizens of the Zoofights encampment that can not afford arena tickets gather in their hovels to go about their meagre ablutions.

Muffled stadium rock echoes from the pre-fight show in the Arena, as smog-filtered sunlight trickles through holes in rusty doors.

In this particular shack, it is a peaceful moment. A nourishing stew of child feet and ropes is on the hob, and a fine bottle of Mega Wine has been procured for the occasion.

Maybe next bout, these paupers will be able to afford to watch the fighting from the horsebone bleachers of Arena One. For now, they are resigned to remaining far from the action...


In a cacophany of mangled iron and bestial grunts, domestic tranquility is shattered, and where once was dinner, now there is only terror.

These two chumps were unlucky enough to win our weekly "meet the contestants" lottery, and as a result their home has been chosen as the starting point for tonight's brawl.

With Brut-os locked in the embrace of Dreadnautilus' tentacles, there is no gunfire - only the brutal smashing of shell on corrugated metal as his invertebrate assailant is thrashed left and right against any hard surface.

Bits of table and stuff fly everywhere, but the undersea avenger's shell is just not cracking. It's time to take this to the street...


As word gets round the slum that the fight has started early, the wretched inhabitants of bars and vice dens flock onto balconies and gantries to see things go down.

Brutos bursts from the hovel in the grip of his enemy, and leaps straight down into a sidestreet clogged with dust and broken machines.

He thunders and bounds down the urban canyon, swiping Dread this way and that against rough stone, manky pipes and old cars alike.

Meanwhile, the mollusc's radio operators sit tight in a nearby dwelling, whispering sage advice to their stalwart war engine.

"hold on, you fucking idiot. Change the frequency! No, no, no, that'll lose the connection. Seriously man, don't let him let go - that thing's going to destroy us in a fucking second."

"Dude, this is terrifying? What do I tell the squid now. How the hell do I see his health bar?"

"I don't know, they never went through this in basic. I'm scared, Jim."

Dreadnautilus is momentarily distracted by the bickering of his terrified radio operators, and loses his grip on the raging hog.

A disciplined warrior would use such a moment to back off and get a good line of sight with ranged weaponry, but Brutos is not one of those.

He is a warthog's front half bolted onto a cheap infantry mech, and he will do what he damn well likes. IT'S GORING TIME.

Free of the tentacles, Brutos flails his forelimbs and lets loose a guttural roar from the darkest reaches his civil protection days.

He rears up a massive foot to gain momentum, and prepares to deliver a headbutt to rock the district...

"Dude, dude, he's hit us hard, which button controls the missiles? We totally need the missiles! WHICH ONE IS IT? Oh shit bro he's gonna fire, hide hide hide"

The hydraulic headbutt sends Brutos' hovering foe careening down the street, dazed and reeling from the impact.

Guided by a rapidly disintegrating sequence of commands from his handlers, dreadnautilus searches for cover, safety - anything to get away from the cruel South African steel of Brutos' rifles...

Dreadnautilus cowers in the shadow of a mud hut as the Joburg Juggernaut finally lets rip with both cannons and tears up the street.

Dangerously exposed, his hopeless radio crew fumble with their set, frantic to get it transmitting again after its carrier taking five shells to the gut.

They only succeed in popping out the batteries, killing the uplink to Dread's radio array and leaving him temporarily alone with his own mind...

Memories of the sea come back to him... memories of fighting leviathans with tentacles like steel cable, in the deep trenches south of Japan...

With the confusion and doubt sown by his handlers temporarily relieved, Dreadnautilus moves with blistering speed.

Hurtling round the corner, the living weapons platform releases a swarm of munitions, darkening the sky with rocket trails and hot lead in an attempt to break Brutos' long range dominance.

Plaster walls are smashed into dust, and the horrendous hog has his turn to be forced into cover, ducking behind a conveniently-placed bus to avoid being minced.

But as Dreadnautilus draws close to take advantage of his surge, a crackling begins to sound in his brain.

"Hey man, I think it's on. IT'S ON, TALK TO HIM DUDE."

"Okay, hey, can you hear us? You gotta kill this warthog guy, ok?"

"...can he hear us? KILL THE HOG MANG"

It only takes Brutos a heartbeat to react to the lessening in the storm of bullets, as Dread is once again distracted by his essential helpers...


Brutos does what Brutos does best, and boots the bus down the street with a punt from his mighty leg.

Dreadnautilus manages to dodge out of the way in time, allowing the bus to sail on, cartwheeling end over end in a cloud of dust and scrap metal.

It bounces with an almighty crunch, and hurtles towards Dread's radio operators. With barely time for a terrified glance upwards, they are pulped into gumph by the tumbling vehicle.

Fuck man, watch out for the BU-"

(For those of you taking stock of civilian casualties, that bus was crammed full of living brains in jars, transported as food for our higher-class attendees. Not only did its destruction ramp up the kill total to 315; it also gave dozens of souls early release from a waking nightmare. Well done Brutos.)

The fuel tank on the bus goes up, and Dreadnautilus, shocked into paralysis by the death of his handlers, is surrounded by an inferno that dries and wrinkles his fragile caphalopod skin.

The flames reflect in the pitiless eyes of its tormentor, and the only sound to be heard over the crackle of the flames is the whirr of servos as rifles are brought to bear...

For the first time in its life, Dreadnautilus can think clearly.

Time seems to slow, and decisions come more rapidly, more lucidly. It peers through its targeting monocular, wondering how many fractions of a second it has before Brutos begins to perforate its shell with white-hot uranium.

For a second, it wonders whether it really did need the radio operators to make intelligent decisions, or whether they were there to stop it making decisions that were a little too smart...

With chilling focus, Dreadnautilus concentrates on the one calculation he needs to secure victory, and squeezes off a single slug from an armour-piercing grenade launcher.

In the instant before Brutos' rifles fire, a dull thud sounds as the round punches straight through the cyborg's chestplate.

The rifles get off a dozen or so rounds, but it is over before it started.


Luckily, those jokesters on the South African team stuffed Brutos chock full of delicious meat, so he's burst apart like some kind of hideous butchershop pinata.

Go scramble to get some ribs, a sausage, whatever - all meat released on the battlefield is guaranteed neither radioactive nor human sourced, as per health and safety regulations.

Rusty oil drums for Barbecuing will be half price at concessions stands all night, in celebration of this meaty victory.