02-08-2009, 05:16 AM
*okay, lets get this show on the road! Anyone else that wants to join, go for it, you'll be added in on the second round of fighting.*
The Colesium was packed to capacity. Over one million people yelling, cheering, screaming to their favorite combatants, with several trillion more from across the universe tuning in. The floor of the massive stone arena looked like a terrible cross between a city and a scrapyard, with the rubble of buildings and demolished vehicles strewn about to provide the cover for the massive war machines. It was roughly 5 square miles in the shape of a wide oval, providing plenty of space to provide the spectators with glorious battles. The stands were protected from flying debris by energy nets, and those that paid for the better seats got holoscreens so they could pinpoint their favorite pilots.
Suddenly, the outer lights on the Colesium dimmed, and the few demolished streetlights on the Colesium floor flickered to life, giving the entire scene a much more darker, violent look.
"LADIES AND GENTLEMEN." The announcer echoed through the stands, "WE WELCOME YOU TO THE SEVENTH ANNUAL TOURNAMENT OF THE IRON GOLEMS. COMBATANTS AND THEIR MACHINES HAVE COME FROM ACROSS THE GALAXY TO FIGHT HERE TONIGHT, FOR A CHANCE TO WIN MILLIONS IN CASH AND PRIZES. LETS GIVE THEM A ROUND OF APPLAUSE!!!"
The stands echoed with the roar of applause and shouts of encouragement. While still a relatively young sport, it was a very violent, sometimes deadly, sport, and it had gained a huge following in the seven short years it had been in existance.
"OKAY, LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, THE MOMENT YOU HAVE ALL BEEN WAITING FOR. BRING OUT THE CONSTRUCTS!!!!" the announcer yelled over the roar of the crowds.
From various places scattered around the Colesium floor, the mechs rose from the earth on heavy equipment lifts.
"OKAY COMBATANTS, ONLY TWO MECHS WILL BE KNOCKED OUT THIS ROUND, SO STRIVE TO SURVIVE!!!" the announcer yelled to the pilots.
***
Brandon sat inside his mech, Scavanger. It had been built entirely out of scraps and junk parts, but had fought hard to get it here tonight. While the other, often Corporate funded mechs had state of the art technology, with Holographic screens, Radar, and clean, easy to read displays, Scavanger had none of that. The pilot sat on a musty Captain's Chair from an 18-wheeler, strapped in with an old, worn seatbelt, with close to a hundred gauges, switches, knobs, and levers in front of him. The only views out were from heavy steel mesh that kept the flying parts from coming in, and to provide ventilation.
The ungodly rumble of the Pontiac V-8 roared from just beneath Brandon's feet. It had several exhaust and fuel leaks, and the fear of an on-board fire always clouded his mind. Mounted on the mech's back like a backpack, were two 150-gallon fuel tanks, stolen from the same rig that he stole the seat from. One fed an arm-mounted flamethrower, and the other fed the engine, both by exposed fuel lines. A pair of hydraulic pumps and a simply gyro-stabilization program kept the machine upright, while the pilot used a gas pedal to make it walk, a brake pedal to make it stop, a shifter to make it go forward or reverse, and turned and used the arms via a pair of controls mounted on either side of the captain's chair.
The left claw was built out of a Crusher, designed to rip and tear at enemy armor, while the right claw was a simple pincer, just used to throw things. A flamethrower mounted on the left arm, and a 20mm Gatling Gun mounted on the right provided offensive might, while the heavy blades from a pair of Bulldozers protected the hydraulics and acted as shields.
Brandon lit up a cigarette, as he watched the playing field come into view, and grinned.
"Don't go lookin' for snakes, you might find them." He reminded himself quietly over the rumble of his engine.
OOC: sorry for the uberlong post. I had to get descriptive, since I couldn't find a picture of my mech. Anyways, have fun!
The Colesium was packed to capacity. Over one million people yelling, cheering, screaming to their favorite combatants, with several trillion more from across the universe tuning in. The floor of the massive stone arena looked like a terrible cross between a city and a scrapyard, with the rubble of buildings and demolished vehicles strewn about to provide the cover for the massive war machines. It was roughly 5 square miles in the shape of a wide oval, providing plenty of space to provide the spectators with glorious battles. The stands were protected from flying debris by energy nets, and those that paid for the better seats got holoscreens so they could pinpoint their favorite pilots.
Suddenly, the outer lights on the Colesium dimmed, and the few demolished streetlights on the Colesium floor flickered to life, giving the entire scene a much more darker, violent look.
"LADIES AND GENTLEMEN." The announcer echoed through the stands, "WE WELCOME YOU TO THE SEVENTH ANNUAL TOURNAMENT OF THE IRON GOLEMS. COMBATANTS AND THEIR MACHINES HAVE COME FROM ACROSS THE GALAXY TO FIGHT HERE TONIGHT, FOR A CHANCE TO WIN MILLIONS IN CASH AND PRIZES. LETS GIVE THEM A ROUND OF APPLAUSE!!!"
The stands echoed with the roar of applause and shouts of encouragement. While still a relatively young sport, it was a very violent, sometimes deadly, sport, and it had gained a huge following in the seven short years it had been in existance.
"OKAY, LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, THE MOMENT YOU HAVE ALL BEEN WAITING FOR. BRING OUT THE CONSTRUCTS!!!!" the announcer yelled over the roar of the crowds.
From various places scattered around the Colesium floor, the mechs rose from the earth on heavy equipment lifts.
"OKAY COMBATANTS, ONLY TWO MECHS WILL BE KNOCKED OUT THIS ROUND, SO STRIVE TO SURVIVE!!!" the announcer yelled to the pilots.
***
Brandon sat inside his mech, Scavanger. It had been built entirely out of scraps and junk parts, but had fought hard to get it here tonight. While the other, often Corporate funded mechs had state of the art technology, with Holographic screens, Radar, and clean, easy to read displays, Scavanger had none of that. The pilot sat on a musty Captain's Chair from an 18-wheeler, strapped in with an old, worn seatbelt, with close to a hundred gauges, switches, knobs, and levers in front of him. The only views out were from heavy steel mesh that kept the flying parts from coming in, and to provide ventilation.
The ungodly rumble of the Pontiac V-8 roared from just beneath Brandon's feet. It had several exhaust and fuel leaks, and the fear of an on-board fire always clouded his mind. Mounted on the mech's back like a backpack, were two 150-gallon fuel tanks, stolen from the same rig that he stole the seat from. One fed an arm-mounted flamethrower, and the other fed the engine, both by exposed fuel lines. A pair of hydraulic pumps and a simply gyro-stabilization program kept the machine upright, while the pilot used a gas pedal to make it walk, a brake pedal to make it stop, a shifter to make it go forward or reverse, and turned and used the arms via a pair of controls mounted on either side of the captain's chair.
The left claw was built out of a Crusher, designed to rip and tear at enemy armor, while the right claw was a simple pincer, just used to throw things. A flamethrower mounted on the left arm, and a 20mm Gatling Gun mounted on the right provided offensive might, while the heavy blades from a pair of Bulldozers protected the hydraulics and acted as shields.
Brandon lit up a cigarette, as he watched the playing field come into view, and grinned.
"Don't go lookin' for snakes, you might find them." He reminded himself quietly over the rumble of his engine.
OOC: sorry for the uberlong post. I had to get descriptive, since I couldn't find a picture of my mech. Anyways, have fun!
The last mutt standing.
The one and only, Cowboy from Hell.
******
Bury me with my guns on,
So when I reach the other side,
I can show him what it feels like to die.
I can show him what it feels like to die.
Bury me with my guns on,
So when I'm cast out of the skies,
I can shoot the Devil right between the eyes.
