For the LEGO-based Wargame Divide and Conquer 5, based in the 1920’s:
"It was the second day of the third week of our Expedition into the heart of Africa to investigate the local legends. Today we collected a new specimen, our thirteenth. Not counting the specimens procured by the Columbians, we now have seven Kongamato’s, four Makhala Raptors, and our second Magnosaurus Rex. The first was found last week, a great brown bull; nine tons of majestic killing machine. We lost five men capturing him, two vehicles, and several others injured; we will need to develop a more efficient way to drug the animals than chloroform gas, but at least it didn’t put up as much of a fight as the raptors… The first Magnosaur was dubbed ‘Caesar’ by his company of handlers, a fitting name for a beast of his majesty. The pen we had ready for him was two acres in size, with forty feet concrete walls, an expensive structure in all, and our next two are far from complete. Earlier today we found our second Magnosaur among the hills; he was slightly smaller and lighter than Caesar, and his skin was dark grey rather than brown. He earned his name when he smashed our heavy recovery vehicle to pieces; he is now called ‘Brutus’ by the men. The trouble started when we added him to the compound with Caesar; the other two were far from ready, and the other species we had collected lived together quite well, without any issues. This was not to be with these two. Just like their ancient namesakes, no sooner had we opened the second set of gates to the compound, and when they first set eyes on each other, the two titans started to roar, and testingly circle each other. We only realized the true magnitude of our error when Caesar charged, ramming Brutus into the wall, then proceeded to grab his smaller cousin by the neck, and flung him to the floor. Brutus may have been younger, but it was clear he had some strength; he managed to kick Caesar away, buying enough time for himself to get up again. The rest was not so much of a fight, and before we flooded the chamber with the chloroform, Brutus had lost one of his arms, received several severe wounds and had his neck almost crushed. He was lying on the floor, hardly breathing, when the crane arrived. We had no time to spare; these two animals were members of a rare species in the area, and nothing could be wasted. No sooner had we craned Brutus out than Dr. Jargon arrived to direct the monstrous flatbed truck to his field laboratory. Phase Two was to begin earlier than planned. Whatever Jargon and his crew plan to do with the half-dead Magnosaur, they had better do it fast. If there is anything we learned from today’s follies, it’s that these alpha predators are far more territorial than we originally thought. This will make things harder. I just hope the Treasury will still be willing to further fund our work here".
– Entry into Dr. Alan Foaly’s journal, Thursday 13th of August, 1924.
"The process of Stage Two worked far better than we thought it would. This kind of work had never been done before, and we were without the help of my tutor, Dr. Frankmengele. Nonetheless; working through the night, we have removed most of the vital organs, and added our own devices to keep the flesh alive. The empty space where his intestines used to be has been filled with three large steel cylinders to store the required mutagen- which I will get to in a moment- replaced his teeth, claws and vital joints with Blacksteel- an ancient Chu alloy, I’m told- The stuff is black as night, the sheets have turned shells from an autocannon, and the banana-sized blades can cleave ordinary metal. The stomach has been filled with a foul flammable liquid, the name of which I cannot share, and his liver, along with the other remaining intestinal organs have been carefully operated on; he can now produce and store flammable gases. Before sewing him up we installed a steel box and radio receiver at the base of the neck, and wired it to where the brain would be, if it were still there. Plates of the dark metal have been buried beneath his hide over his remaining organs, and the tanks of mutagen hooked up to his heart. We have drained the body of fluid, and the green liquid has three times the energy as his former blood, is somewhat acidic, has been laced with steroids and a new chemical neurological agent that calms the nerves. It is derived from the original formula created by my tutor, Dr. Frankmengele, but the improved Green mutagen is stronger, and easier to produce than the original Red that was used on his Skelfa’s. The chemical was designed to supply the flesh with the energy it needs to stay alive, to keep its integrity, and strength. Otherwise the creature would rot in a matter of weeks, effectively making the body useless as a weapon. The Magnosaur body they supplied us now relies upon the stuff to survive as an ordinary organism would rely upon red blood cells, and is expected to stay that way. The mutagen stored in the large tanks should keep the body alive and running for as long as it could originally survive without food- an estimated month or so, after which the chemical fuel will need to be replaced to avoid damage to the flesh. A flamethrower has indeed been installed in the back of his throat, and awaits testing. The theory is that his lungs will pump the gases from the stomach through the fire machine. Fortunately his dried skin has been proven to be fireproof, so that flames, and the weapon itself, will not harm the animal. His eyes were bloodshot when we began; now they seem to be drowned in that green liquid. The dried body reeks of the Mutagen, so strongly that it stings the eyes and nose the same way mustard gas would, so our work was only made possible by the use of full body suits. The last remaining issue is the creature’s brain; for reasons we cannot explain, it would not reanimate. We will need to find a replacement…"
– Report from Dr. Jargon, head of the Sahrotaar Project. 18th of August, 1924
"It has been weeks since the body of Brutus was dragged off for whatever purposes Dr. Jargon and his team had in mind. I am the only scientist here, not involved in the process, cleared to view the end result of the project, whatever that may be. The document I had to sign was chilling enough; it bore several large red labels of stamped letters, the largest of which read ‘DO NOT TELL THE POPE’, above of course ‘Top Secret’. Whoever is behind this endeavor wanted the highest possible security, and after I saw it, I understood why. Jargon directed me to the viewing platform of our testing facility- a good kilometer or so away from the main base camp. I did not know what to suspect, but I was warned not to eat anything beforehand. The first I saw of the creature was its prostrate form, lying on top of an opened freight crate, buckled down by numerous steel and leather straps and chains, with a group of ready soldiers milling around in the pen below, but stood to attention when Jargon and I reached the platform. Already there was a foul smell in the air, the kind that disturbs the nose. By signal, the soldiers set to work undoing the bindings on the hulking figure, before scurrying out of the compound through the personnel doorways. It was so strange, seeing such an enormous creature like that. It was perfectly still, lying there as if it were utterly dead, and it had a strange saddle-like metal rig on its back, with thick plastic tubes full of a green liquid, each rod burying itself in his grey flesh. Perfectly still, until Jargon retrieved his microphone; ‘Test Phase One, commence’. And by God. No sooner had said that than the body started to move, it’s chest heaving up and down, and it’s bloodshot eyes snapped open, and seemed to glare at me. Moments after it had begun moving the foul, acidic smell, the like of which I have never known, started to fill the air, stinging my nose, making me feel queasy, and grateful of my empty stomach as I gripped the railing, trying to steady myself. Something was definitely not right. As if frustrated, Jargon spoke into the microphone again; ‘Well then, get up you big lug!’. As if Brutus understood the doctor, he grumbled mightily, and started to get on his feet. It was a pitiful thing to watch- it looked as if he had never walked before. He gingerly, and slowly, stood up, shaking as he did it, getting used to the powerful muscles beneath him for the first time since his lost fight. It took him a few minutes, and fell over once, but his resolve seemed to harden from a few uncouth curses from a frustrated Dr. Jargon. Impatient, Jargon ordered the animal to walk, not long after he even corrected his standing stance. I had no idea what kind of cooperation my colleague was expecting from an animal, and clearly Brutus did not much savor the idea either, remaining still for a little longer, before a steady stream of harsh curses from Jargon got him moving, rumbling as he testingly put one shaking foot forward, and then the next. I will never understand how Jargon made a Magnosaur obey his orders, but sure enough Brutus took a slow circuit of the compound, each step surer than the last. He started to pant, fifty meters from the end, his great chest heaving from the effort, and remained there for a half minute. The poor animal must have been exhausted, but Jargon never had much empathy. ‘Get moving, you fat ugly bastard! I’ve come too far to see you run out of breath! Move!’ With renewed energy, Brutus bellowed in fury, a sound that sounded mechanical, like scraping steel, and as the green liquid pumped even faster, glowing as it did, he found a burst of speed, sprinting the last stretch. For such a large, tired animal it had a considerable speed- clearly in excess of 40 miles an hour. When he finally slid to a halt, no longer shaking, panting like the devil, he craned his neck to look upon the platform. It was terrifying; he was looking straight at me, and unless I was imaging it, the great grey beast was grinning, an insulting lear, his eyes so full of malice it would kill a cat. It was impossible, seeing such intense emotions, so full of hate, coming from an animal. While I was petrified, Jargon seemed jubilant; ‘I do believe that would be all for today. Can you do one more thing for me dear?’ Brutus bobbed his head… No, he couldn’t have. An impossible feat- an animal had just given us a gesture of approval! This gave Jargon the giggles, and he said one word that would haunt me to this day; ‘Roar’. And so it did. Brutus circled back to the centre of the compound, leaned back, and roared at the sky, with great tongues of deathly green, bellowing flame erupting from his mouth. It was a long, ground-shaking eruption that would put the flash and boom of a battleship gun to shame. It was full of terrible fury, pain and agony, as he poured his malice into the night sky, howling at the moon until the unholy noise started to rattle the platform, and blocked out anything else. Just above the apocalyptic cacophony, I heard a maniacal laugher. It was Jargon saying ‘I do believe it is ready’"
– Dr. Alan Foaly, last entry before leaving the Expedition on 21st August, 1924
"The testing of the weapon is going very well. Brutus, as they call him, seems to have recovered from his ordeal, as his fitness levels rise daily, and to impressive effect. We may know little of his species at this time, but study of Caesar has yielded their massive strength. He flattens trees with an ease that startles me, and with top speeds high enough to out-strip our Tiryata halftracks! We are yet to test the new model of the vehicles, but rest assured that little shall escape Brutus. The high-energy mutagen is working wonders, far exceeding expected levels of physical performance. The metal plates in his tail and the new forged claws and fangs allow him to rend the armour of light thanks, sneakily taken from Amestrian factories. From his tests within the compound, the transplant subject takes great joy in tearing apart and crushing military gun targets like toys. The flamethrower works to great effect, and he has already torched the greenery in his pen, as well as anything flammable that goes in there. The green flames, fed by my own gas, are hotter than wildfire, and literally melts the tires off our cars. His mechanical arm was once a challenge, but it seems to be working in-sync with his other arm. From fossil records the modern animals have longer and stronger forelimbs than their predecessors. His jaws are another matter. His bite force is enough to crush stones, bend gun barrels and snap tree trunks. He is a truly terrifying animal. His pungent, toxic stench aid the fear factor. His intelligence would have to be his finest weapon. He solves all the puzzles we give him, and he can engage in complex communication through sign language, and easily understands languages. He was fluent in Anglish and Latin before we made the transplant, and he is currently learning Seax, Ziamese, And Lorrench. His progress is commendable, and he will soon begin his tutorship in Tongorian and Bolish, perhaps even the complex dialects of Qinese, and I have reason to believe that he can outsmart any savvy foes he will meet on his test run, so only the more complex traps set for him are likely to be a threat. The only issue we cannot properly solve is stress. His brain is foreign to such an immense body, and his training includes sleep deprivation. We had hoped that his body can handle without sleep, especially with the adrenaline in his mutagen-laced blood, but his brain is not quite used to the prospect. We’ve called in a famous Columbian psychiatrist to work on him, but due to his imminent combat test we may not have the time. Once he is deployed, his first field test will be a bloodbath. We are ready, just make sure that you are, my mysterious friend".
-Dr. Jargon, 1st PAXIS Report
