Wurm Wrangler: The Origin

Journal entry 1.

"Is it recording?"
"The red light is on, of course it is!"
"Uhh... how do you turn on the night vision on this thing?"
"Let me, let me..."

The night vision is turned on, and screen now glows green, with a close up of a face in a gasmask.
"Alright, I'll hold on to the camera since I actually know how to use it!" he says, and turns around, shaking quite bit. Genuine shaky-cam.
The cameraman now film the other members of his group, all clad in very military-esque gear, all with gasmasks, and not an inch of bare skin exposed.
"Okay, this is my team... here's..."
The introductions are fastforwarded. This continues until the four have moved on along the dark tunnel and discover what they came for: some Matango.

There were three young looking ones, about as tall as a first-grader, and the men pointed at them excitedly.
"Okay, okay... let's just see if we can pull them up..."
One of the men put his hands under the arms of one of the Matango and tries to lift her up by her armpits. The Mushroom Girl giggles at this, and is uprooted easily enough. The other two giggle as well and start reaching out to the other men. Shrugging their shoulder the men pick the girls up.
"This was easier than I though it would be" the cameraman comments, zooming in on one of the girls that is now riding on the man's shoulders.
"But if these kids are here, shouldn't there be like, a Mom and a Dad?" one of the men asks, and the girls all giggle and start babbling excitedly, pointing at the cameraman. No, behind him.
"Ugh!"
The cameraman falls, and so does the camera. Filming a wall now, the screen offered no more information. The sound was still on, however, and the cries of the men made it quite clear what was happening.
"GIVE ME BACK MY MASK! OH SHIT OH SHIT OHSHIIIT!"
After some screaming, things calm down, and after a little more, quiet moans and sighs start echoing in the tunnel.

The screen is turned off.
"So Matango Pluckers didn't work out. Two of those men are now in an intensive care ward. The other two are married to the damn things"
There was some chuckling at this.
"Yeah, real funny guys. But we placed a lot of our hopes on these idiots. We need a new hit, and we need it ASAP, people! So any ideas? Huh?"

I had kept mostly quiet up to that point. I knew about the disaster with Matango Pluckers, but hadn't really cared. It was a rehash of Alraune Suckers anyway, and that had been a low point in the networks history. Well, until that single season game show where the contestants guessed what the Echnida would give birth to next. At this rate though, that might be renewed for another season. Eugh. I couldn't stand the idea, so I threw out the first thing that came to my mind.
"So how about those mech-suits that were on the news?"
I regretted it immediately then, because the stares I got were... well, if looks could kill, you know.
"Mech-suits. In a documentary" my boss clarified, as if not believing his ears.
It was the first idea pitched, and that meant it would be shot down almost certainly, and I had thrown it out as a sort of icebreaker. Yeah, I'm a regular Dark Knight, taking one for the team like that. What I didn't expect was support.
"Yeah, I heard they're looking for ex-cons and people with experience in the military or the police force to take up their training courses. The suits are really expensive, so they want their pilots to be cheap"
That had been the intern, and I don't even remember his name. He was moved to a more... out-of-the-way position after that meeting. He won't be getting a job here, that's for sure.
Now Bill on the other hand, he had only a month until retirement, so he didn't care about speaking his mind anymore. And what did he say?
"There's potential. Badasses getting a quick training course, they're considered expendable. That promises injuries, possible deaths. And mech-suits will draw in viewers, manchildren mostly, but there's a demographic"
"Bill, most of these mechs will be in use by industrial workers in place of forklifts. They'll be stacking things. Moving containers. Nothing exciting. Not what we're looking for"
This was true, and the mere fact that three people had supported this idea pissed the boss off to no end. Which was kind of funny, but also dangerous. Yeah, Bill wasn't going to get fired at this point, and the intern didn't know any better, but me? I was hoping someone would change the subject, come up with something. Especially Harrison, that fucking prick always tries to one-up anything and everything. But there was just silence. I should've kept my mouth shut and waited a bit. But did I? No. So what did I do?
"With all due respect, sir, I think this is the best story we have available. Some of these mechs will be used by military personnel, and the possibility of them being put to use in a combat situation, while low, is still there, and..."
I stuck to my guns. I stood my ground. And you know what? It fucking worked.
"Alright Anderson" said my boss with a voice dripping with honey. "You go right now and do some footwork, find your way into the thick of things. Find out everything you can, and get us a story to follow. That sound good to you?"
What choice did I have but to go through with it?
"Right. And the rest of us, WE will be staying here and working up a brainstorm like professionals"
At least I didn't get demoted right away.

So I set out to do some old fashioned investigative journalism. And guess what? Never trust a fucking intern.
As it turned out, these mechs had been sold - in a variety of different models - to the army or to the kind of companies that required a lot of heavy lifting and such, and all the people who would be operating them would in fact be highly paid and highly trained professionals, which meant that it would be some months at the least before any of them became operational. Not only that, but the military refused to let any journalists in on what they were going to be doing, so my best chance went there. And then there were the corporations who really would be using the mechs for just heavy lifting, which would have been interesting a few decades ago, but exoskeletons were a common tool nowadays.
Lady Luck was on my side in the end, for the models of mech-suits that ended up on the market were the result of years and years of development, and as it turned out, all the prototypes built had been considered too expensive to simply scrap. So what did the manufacturers do with them? They sold them at a discount to... drum roll please... a non-profit organization. It was either an attempt to evade some taxes through charity, or this organization had a lot of funds. Now what would a "non-profit organization" do with mech-suits? The manufacturers refused to tell me who they were or where they were located, but chatting up some shipping-dock folk I got a trail, and that trail led me into discovering the trucks that had been used to transport these prototype mechs, and their GPS-systems led me on the right track to discovering this mysterious base. I'm going there now. Let's be honest here, we could be looking at some major shit now. Are these people terrorists? Do they intend to overthrow the country in the name of whatever deity they worship? Are they an anti-monster group, seeking to get an edge over the Monsters? Am I going to get a Pulitzer for this? If anything should happen to me, I'm putting this audio file in the cloud, so it will remain safe. It is set to become public knowledge if I do not stop the countdown in 24 hours. I'd ask you to wish me luck, but if you ever hear this message, I will be dead, so pray for me instead, if you're into that sort of thing. If not, don't let the bastards get away with it.

This Cooper Fester Anderson, signing off.


Journal entry 2

As it turns out, I'm alive. And embarrassed, to say the least. And I feel that trying to make the meeting appear all dramatic with the whole "Matango Pluckers" business was juvenile and unprofessional.
I no longer fear any harm will become me, but I still feel the need to make sure these updates reach the internet in due time, just in case someone else tries to steal the story from me. I got to it first, and it's better than I thought it would be, so keep you paws off of it, you damn dirty apes. Mine.

In any case, the non-profit organization is not one operating with any secrecy, it was the mech manufacturers who were being all enigmatic. Wurm Wranglers, that's their name. You don't need to be a genius to figure out why they want mech suits. And here we have our new reality show, with two different groups to follow. Here's what I'm thinking for the format.
The organization has two goals, and two subject groups that interest us. The first of these are - obviously - the Wurms. A Wurm is a Dragon, and almost TOO strong for it's own good. Life in human society requires quite a bit of finesse from beasts like that, so there's a lot of pent up energy in them, especially around puberty when they start to turn into slithering piles of hormones and temper. The solution? Letting loose. Against mech suits, apparently.
Wurm Wranglers gets some money from the government as well as donations, and not just from the "Extra Species Act" - I did air quotes there, you can't see it, but... yeah, anyway, the majority of the money comes from a rehabilitation program. This is where the rumours about ex-cons comes from; people with a history of violence, both human and Monster, are brought here and trained as pilots as a part of their anger management therapy. Wurm Wranglers hits two birds with one stone, so to speak.
So that's the deal. I'm planning on getting a few interviews from the administration, and then some of the people involved behind the scenes, like the maintenance crews and such. And then I'll scout out the most interesting Wurms and pilots, see if I can't get enough material to convince the boss to greenlight the show.
I'm going to need to be careful about this. Apparently, the mechs are all customized, since they're all prototypes that were sold off instead of being put into mass production. That means everyone is going to be different in some ways, and that makes things interesting, but I need to carefully choose the ones I think have the best chances of putting together a nice winning streak, people who are, you know, hero-like. Likable rascals, jerks with hearts of gold, and most importantly, willing to be filmed. The administration seems to like the idea of a documentary to increase awareness of what they're doing, but I'm not so sure they're interested in becoming entertainment for the masses. But what if I made a documentary instead? It's not like I have anything to lose... but my job. And if I DO become a big name in the documentary circles, a serious journalist, maybe even get a Pulitzer... nah, this isn't that big. But still, doing some serious journalism might be better than staying a wage-slave for The Kitsune Network.
...though I don't think I've got the talent. I'll just go do some interviews.

I've got some promising samples I'd like to put up here now. Wurm number one:

"Life is really frustrating sometimes. You have no idea what it's like, growing up as a Wurm. EVERYBODY has a joke about how stupid you are, even if you've got the second best scores in the entire school. I worked my ass off, figuratively speaking, and the only one who did better than me was a neurotic Anubis. So what do I get? 'Derp, she's the Forrest Gump of Monster Girls, guessing so well every time'! Fuck that! All my life I have to hear those fucking 'How stupid a Wurm is' jokes, and no matter what I do, it doesn't stop! Sometimes I just want to burrow into the core of the Earth, coil up and turn into Dragonite. This stuff, it's like, really good for letting loose, you know? I don't feel angry afterwards, not for a long time. If you ever make a doc about this, I want to be in it. To show everyone that this is good, you know?"

A young adult, frustrated from dealing with the "Wurms are stupid" stereotype, taking out her frustrations by fighting mechs. Willing to cooperate. She's in as far as I'm concerned. Another promising candidate is Wurm number two:

"Oh, well... I'm a housewife, and recently my daughter has started to become a little distant... she's gotten into some gooky new religion and keeps telling me about being touched by a 'noodly appendage', and I'm a little worried she might be gay for a girl with tentacles, but my husbands assures me this is just a phase... I don't know, I just feel so absolutely powerless at home when stuff like that happens... when I come here, I feel empowered. Just letting go and clashing with the pilots, putting all my strength and skill into play... even if I lose, I still feel like I'm in control, in control of my life, of my body, of my mind. I feel like a different person, and I can handle life at home so much better when I come here every now and again. My husband even thinks our sex life has improved now that I'm more confident and take the lead more often..."

A youngish mother of one, a housewife. Feels powerless over her life, comes to compete here to feel empowered. Should bait in feminists, bored housewives, and guys who like MILFs. She's quite the looker. Might be a bit of a doormat when not in the groove, so I'll get her to be in the show easily. Then we have Wurm number three:

"I love it. I used to just enrol in fight clubs but I kept getting banned, you know, injuries, property damage, stuff like that. I don't need to hold back here, and it feels fucking great. Once we get the tournament going, I'm going to become the first champion, and then I'm treating everyone to pancakes and ice cream! Hahahaha!"

A teenaged Wurm who loves a fight. Easy to relate to, and won't mind if she's filmed. Those three should handle the Wurm section, I'll look to the pilots next. Three of them should be enough to last us an entire season. If I pick them right, that is.


This Cooper Fester Anderson, signing off.

Journal entry 3

I rubbed shoulders with the pilots, they're a motley crew to say the least. The viewers will love that kind of thing. I'm including here the interviews for the three I chose for my project. The first of them is a second generation immigrant from Turkey, and he's... well, listen, just listen.

"Aziz Mael. Yes, THE Aziz Mael! I wrestled myself into the ranks of wrestlers in Olympics team! But poor Aziz did not make it! It was a conspiracy born from jealousy! They tamper with Aziz' urine test, make it dirty, show foreign substances, illegal substances. Tsk, tsk. I did not like it, no sir. Aziz break three arms and two legs before they tackle him like it was American football... why is it called football here? We only kick the ball every now and again, it is just rugby with unnecessary protective wear! Now soccer, European football, THAT is football! What were we talking about? Oh yes, Wurm Wrangling! Aziz get out of prison in horrible shape, no proper exercising equipment in there, no vitamins, see how scrawny I've become? So I go back to Papa and Mama, and I make kebab, need a job while on probation, yeah? One day, skinheads come in, and they say 'One kebab, hold the arm hair!', and they laugh shitty laugh!
So Aziz, weak as I was, broke their limbs, because they insult cultural heritage. But now predicament: back to jail for doing what was moral thing to do. Defence lawyer cut deal, get Aziz enrolled here. Good gym, good vitamins, all allowed, I get to wrestle, no prison. And wrecnhmonkeys set up good rig, big robot suit moves like it was Aziz' own body!"

Hear that? That's one crazy motherfucker. A history of violence, thinks he's a good guy doing the right thing, and even though you couldn't see it, he's BIG. And hairy. With a stereotypical hooked nose and stereotypical Turk moustache. The accent is completely fake though, he was born in Newark and he only does it to appear mysterious. Okay, here's pilot number two:

"I graduated from MIT, you know? I'm probably one of, if not THE, the best mech engineers who aren't Japanese, you know? I began to study robotics for one reason, and one reason only: to build giant robots and take over the world. Look at me man, I'm now an overqualified forklift operator. I was never supposed to actually pilot these things myself, but oh no, here I am. Do you have any idea how it feels to have all your dreams town away from you, all hope trampled on, and being left with no recourse than to work for minimal wage in a non-profit organization that exploits YOUR machines? These things have all been ruined anyway, I can hardly recognize my babies the way they are now!
Once this tournament gets going, I'm going to record combat data for as many of them as possible, checking out their performance in action, and then I'm selling the data to the military in exchange for a temp job in a missile program or something, this is NOT what I want out of life"

That doesn't need much explaining, does it? Newt Romney, mad scientist. He helped create these mechs, but got kicked out when he messed around with the son of the director of the project responsible for making them. Apparently, the son turned Alp. While I'm not judging, this guy is even crazier than Aziz, absolutely sympathetic bad guy material. And on that note, I feel like I've saved the best for last. Here's pilot number three, and quite possibly our designated bad guy:

"You ever heard the phrase, 'had to go to prison to become a crook'? That happened to me. I was a fucking shoplifter, and kept skipping school, sure, and maybe I smoked and drank while I was underaged, and stole a bicycle, and made some tags, and yeah, I broke windows, but I wasn't a bad kid, you know? Everybody's been there, yeah? But then the judge says I'd become an example to delinquents all over, and sent me into prison. Not juvie, no, but actual prison. They got a special permit from the senator and shit to put a human male in a Monster Girl prison. For three years I was passed around like currency by Onis. I got a new tattoo every time I changed owner. Do you have any fucking idea what that kind of thing does to a young guy? Fuck Monster Girls. As soon as I got out, I started going to fight clubs, working out like a maniac, I even applied for Paladin training. I got past all the physical examinations and cheated through the other tests, but I couldn't stand the amount of religious bullshit after basic. The only god in this world is Grimm, the Lord of Edge, and I am a proud member of his church.
Long story short, I got busted for raiding a liquor store, went back in the slammer. I fought like a ratel, and got a titanium hip for my trouble. I got out only by agreeing to this shit. So yeah, I'm pissed, I fucking hate those Wurms with every inch of my body, and come showtime I'm wrecking their shit, and you can take that to the bank"

I pray to Hathor that is his catchphrase. He didn't say his name, just calls himself Achilles. Might be a bit delusional, but definitely angry, hateful, and he looks like he'd fit right in with a post apocalyptic raider gang. Might be a drug user.
But those three are going to be the focus on the pilot's side. If all goes well, my next entry will detail the "tournament" that's being set up, as it's going to be the focus of the show. I need to get that done and call the boss, tell him what's what. I think I've earned a raise at least.

This is Cooper Fester Anderson, signing off.

Journal entry 4

What follows is a description of the first match.

There was no proper arena, only the wasteland. The audience and the maintenance crews remained at a safe distance while cameras were set around the perimeter to catch the action from every single point of view.
The two contestants arrived. Aziz Maël, the Turk, in his mechsuit, christened The Combat Fighter was on one side, using his five meter-tall mech to flex what would have been muscles on a human. On the other side was a Wurm who appeared young due to her size, she was only 9 meters long, and like a child, she wore war paint, her scales had red and yellow stripes. She used the name Glow Wurm for some reason.
The two contestants got ready. There was excitement in the air, this was the first competitive match Wurms Wranglers had set up, the first match in the tournament. Then the bell rang, and the two rushed each other.

Glow Wurm didn't go in for contact. Rather, she stopped in her tracks and twisted her body to get all her strength behind the swing of her giant tail. A blow from something like that was to a wrecking ball what the bat was to the baseball.
The Combat Fighter took the blow to the side, below the mechs arm, through the hole Aziz had left in his guard - on purpose.
Before Glow Wurm could pull back her tail, The Combat Fighter's arms wrapped around it. The PA systems opened up with a bit of noise.
"You fell into my trap, missy!" Aziz gloated before leaning the mech back, letting gravity pull it down to the ground, pulling the helpless Wurm down with him.
While she was staggered, The Combat Fighter pulled her closer while lifting itself up into a more sitting position to be able to pin the Wurm down by the upper body and attain victory.
"Heh! I've got you right where I want you, Tin Man!" shouted Glow Wurm, lifting her upper body above the mech, using the mech's weight on her tail for leverage.

Glow Wurm grabbed The Combat Fighter firmly and began to pull her tail free, intending to get her entire weight on top of the mech. With her firm position, she was winning the tug-o-war, and her tail was slowly being freed from the mech's grip while the mech was falling closer and closer to the ground.
The PA system was activated again.
"Look's like Aziz is going to have to use... THAT"
Before Glow Wurm was able to prepare herself, several pores opened up along the hull and limbs of The Combat Fighter, secreting oil. The suddenly slippery surface could no longer be held on to, and Glow Wurm slipped off.
The two contestants took some distance. Glow Wurm tried to attack with her tail again, but her blow was useless; the powerful tail simply slid along the oily mech without proper impact.
"As you can see, there is no hope for you to win against Aziz" the PA system's distorted voice gloated.
A smile spread across Glow Wurm's face.
"Wrong. This is my victory!" she said in a voice full of confidence, and put her hands in front of her, crossing her fingers as if taking aim at him for firing a beam.
"What is this? Is little Wurm joking?"
The Combat Fighter began to approach her menacingly.
"When you decided to coat yourself with oil, did you forget that I'm a Dragon?"
The PA system let out laughter.
"What a silly little Wurm! Is she going to breath fire?"
"You could say that... or you could say..."
Glow Wurm breathed in, filling her lungs, then breather out with all the strength her lungs could muster - which, for a Wurm, is quite a bit - while shouting out the name of her special technique,
"FLAMMENWERFER!"
while hitting the nails of her index fingers together, letting a spark fly. The high-pressure air from her shout pushed the spark right on to The Combat Fighter, and with all the extra oxygen it had, and explosion occurred, throwing back the mech while the flames spread across the oil faster than the naked eye could perceive, forcing the automated escape mechanism to eject the cockpit.
Glow Wurm grinned.
"That's science class for you!"

Aziz Maël and The Combat Fighter were beaten by Glow Wurm. Damn I wish I had gotten her to agree to an interview. I lost one of the six protagonists for my show already. Boy did I bet on the wrong horse. I was so upset about this, I didn't even make an entry explaining how the tournament works... but that's not really all that complicated, there's 32 contestants, 16 mechs and 16 Wurms, and 1-on-1 fights, easy. Hmm, yeah, that's about it.


This is Cooper Fester Anderson, signing off.

			***

My name is Cooper Fester Anderson. I... understand that I have several questionable choices in the last 24 hours. The media will paint me as a madman or a terrorist, or both. Maybe I can't convince you otherwise with this recording, but I intend to upload it to the internet nonetheless.
I don't have time to explain everything here. For anyone who actually cares, the facts can still be found with a little digging. I'm recording this inside the Catch-a-Fish, the ultimate mech, built by Newt Romney himself. He's knocked out now, but still alive... I think. Whether he is or not doesn't matter...
I need to hurry up. The Catch-a-Fish is scheduled to fight a Wurm called Artemis. The Catch-a-Fish is equipped it weapons capable of actually killing a Wurm. No mech has ever been armed with anything that dangerous, and it's a fact that Romney was going to try and kill Artemis. I KNOW this, I can't prove it in this recording, but I need to stop...

The match is starting. I have no idea how to actually operate this thing, but luckily for me, Romney included a button labelled "Autopilot".
"Autopilot activated"
She sounds pretty.
"Catch-a-Fish proceeding to run diagnostic program. This will take 48 hours. Please stand by."
Wait, what? I didn't... fuck, fuck, FUCK!

I can't do anything. The mech is getting tossed around by Artemis, using her Judo and Aikido skill. As long as the computer is not interrupted, the diagnostics program will keep running, and the lethal weapons will remain harmless. The problem being that there is no way for me to get out of here. If Artemis decides to wreck the Catch-a-Fish properly, I'm dead. I could very well be making my own black box here. This seemed like such a good idea at the time...
"WARNING! PLUTONIUM WARHEADS EXPOSED!"
Okay...
"WARNING! LETHAL LEVELS OF RADIATION! WARNING! PILOT'S LIFE IN IMMINENT DANGER!"
That's kind of bad...
"WARNING! COCKPIT CONTAMINATED!"
*COUGH! COUGH! COUGH!*
*Wheeze*
Okay... I'm dying... This is how it was supposed to be...

...

...

....

"WARNING! RADIATION LEVELS HAVE REACHED MUTATIVE LEVELS! MUTATION OF EXTRASPECIES HIGHLY LIKELY"