Survivor Series Round One: The Arthur C Clarke Division vs The Steven Spielberg Division

"Ladies and Gentlemen, the following contest is a Survivor Series match, and is not over until all members of one team have been eliminated! The survivors will move on to the final round!" declares legendary WWE ring announcer Howard Finkel. "Duel of the Fates" echoes through the arena as the team representing the Clarke division walks down the aisle in solidarity. Well, mostly, as Mad Eye Moody seems preturbed by the music selection. "Ugh, this predictable drivel." he mutters to himself. The Fink continues with his introduction. "Now entering the ring, Mad Eye Moody, Black Lantern Darth Rave, Tarfful, and Nightbrother #7, The... The..." Nightbrother #7 whispers something in Howard Finkel's ear. "The Nightbrothers!" The savage almost cracks a rare smile as his teammates shake their heads in unison. "And their opponents..."

The Spielberg Division is indeed divided, as each member enters seperately. The familiar guitar riff of AC/DC's "Have a Drink on Me" accompanies Battle Pope on his slow, inebriated walk to the ring. Sith lord Mike Sroka's theme song is the title track from Mega Man 2, possibly a glimpse of better times in the life of this now twisted soul. Psylocke enters to "Rule, Britannia!" like a proper Englishwoman, despite her Asian appearance. The 3 climb through the ropes and wait for the final combatant, Triple H. "The Nightbrothers" decide to seize the opportunity and "Pearl Harbor" the short-handed team.

Sensing the immenent peril, Psylocke manages to avoid the attack and pairs off with Nightbrother #7. Battle Pope and Sroka are not as lucky, and the combined boots pummel them. "Now stick to the plan!" orders Tarfful. "Rave, destroy the pretender, I shall defeat the false emissary, and Moody, keep a watch for our tardy foe." Actually, it sounded like a Wookie roaring. Either his teammates understand Wookie, or this has been practiced because the squad complies. They each take their respective opponent to a different quadrant of the squared circle, except for Mad Eye Moody, who keeps watch for the still absent HHH.

As the Sith lords square off, Mike Sroka's hatred is palpable. "Rave," Mike hisses, "You continue to embarass the Dark Side even after death. Allow me to rectify this." Darth Rave responds with "Rectify...heh...." and trails off as he fires up his lightsabers and twirls them with their attached chains. Unimpressed by the lightshow, Sroka attacks wildly with his lightsaber, typical of a Sith. Rave blocks every attack thrown at him. It is either a strong force connection or pure luck because he is clearly transfixed on his own shiny weapons, laughing in a drug induced state. Naturally, this enrages Mike, which fuels his attack. This also causes Darth Rave to laugh harder, which fuels this stalemate.

We now turn to a more lopsided affair concerning Psylocke and Nightbrother #7. The Nightbrother is a fierce warrior, but he is no match for the X-Mens' resident telepathic ninja. After a clean roundhouse kick to the jaw, she is able to mentally overtake him. "Stay there, I'll be back for you soon enough," she says to the enthralled Nightbrother. This allows her to assist Battle Pope, who is in a dire situation.

After the surprise attack that began this match, Battle Pope was easily scooped into the arms of Tarfful and is stuck in the dreaded Wookie-hug of Death. "Hey Pope, need a hand?"asks Psylocke. "Bout time, sweetcheeks..." replies the almost unconcious Pope. "I already regret this..." quips Psylocke as she plunges her "psychic knife" into the mind of Tarfful. Normally, this disrupts the mind of her victim, but this time it diconnects the Wookie from his intelligence. Only the animal is left as he snaps the ribs of Battle Pope and drops him to face the mind witch. In this unrestrained mindset, Tarfful easily overpowers her, and even more easily rips her in two. Battle Popes lungs are rapidly filling with blood, but he's not ready to be called home just yet. "Hey furball..." gasps the pope, "You don't get to kill a sweet piece like that and expect to get away with it, do ya!?!" The Wookie growls as he approaches the holy man. "That's it ugly... come and get it." retorts Battle Pope. Tarfful attempts a final Wookie death hug, but is met with a Great Muta-like spray of blood from mouth of the wayward pope, followed by a lit Zippo and a kick out of the ring. Based on the spread of the flames across the Wookie fur, that blood must have a BAC of at least .35. "See Father, being a shameless drunk isn't always a bad thing." grins the Pope, looking skyward. "I suppose I should go help that Scrotum kid, or whatever his name is."laments Battle Pope as he proceeds to the still tied Sith duel.

"I cut you down, yet you will not fall! Die for me!" screams Sroka. Darth Rave pays little attention to his opponent as he is still focused on his own personal lazer show. "But, the colors... I love you man..." rambles Rave. An even more enraged Mike charges in and hacks away, to no avail. A badly damaged Battle Pope finally reaches the struggle and restrains Darth Rave. "It's the ring, kid! It's unholiness sustains him! Get rid of it!" yells the pope. Sroka nods as he remove Darth Rave's ring with a precision lightsaber strike. "I'll take it from here..." Battle Pope says as he grabs the Black Lantern ring. "You're coming with me, where ever that may be..." With that, his injuries catch up with him and he is engulfed in a white light. "Ha, didn't think you cared Old Man, figured I was headed Down South." says Battle Pope. "We have unfinished business of our own. Mercy is the last thing you should expect." retorts a booming disembodied voice. "Still mad about the Mary thing, eh," laughs the pope. "YES" says the voice. "Wow, still? You're a stubborn bastard, aren't ya?" mutters Battle Pope. After a moment, the voice responds "..... YES." Battle Pope ascends to Heaven with the Black lantern ring in tow, which causes Darth Rave to disintegrate as well. A fading "Duuuuuuude......" marks his passing.

So it is just you and me, wizard. Your eye will be a fitting trophy." snarles Mike Sroka. Mad Eye Moody continues to perch atop the turnbuckle, paying no attention to the Sith. "Do you hear me old man? Are you afaid to face your death?" Still, the wizard ignores the rants. "Enough of your impudence! DIE!!!!!" screams Sroka as he puts everything he has into a blast of force lightning. Surprisingly, the lightning reflects back at the Sith lord, cooking him completely. "I was prepared for this dark one. Can't be too careful with your kind!" says Moody to himself. "Ah, and here comes your wayward teammate. I was starting to think that he wouldn't even show his face at this point. My mistake."

"TIME TO PLAY THE GAAAAAAAME!!!" The normal house lights are replaced by the strobing colored lights that accompany Motorhead's entrance music for Triple H. He makes his way down the aisle and climbs to the outside of the ring. With a glance to Mad Eye, HHH continues his pre-match ritual of misting water into the air and looking pissed in general. The regular arena lights return as HHH enters the ring with a microphone. "You must be pretty proud of yourself Moody. Your team managed to take out a Pope and a Sith Lord. Too bad you're done now." "You forgot about the woman, too!" sneers Mad Eye. With a sly smile, Triple H responds "Did I? That's funny, she doesn't look dead to me. In fact, she's right behind you." Mad Eye Moody turns around just in time to catch a little Sweet Chin Music, a.k.a. a superkick from a very much alive Psylocke. This propels him into the clutches of a waiting HHH, who wastes no time delivering a Pedigree, his devastating finisher. The sound of face smashing into canvas signals the end of the match.

"Pretty neat trick, Braddock. When exactly did you begin your illusion?" asks HHH. "Right after I hit the Wookie with my psychic knife and sensed it did not go as planned." explains Psylocke. "I projected my image onto the Nightbrother, and his onto mine. I had to do something, I was begining to doubt whether you'd even show!" "Listen lady, I run this business now, and the paperwork's a killer!" barks HHH. "And if you ain't down with that, I got two words for ya!" As Psylocke sighs and shakes her head, Triple H's catch phrase is interupted by groans from the heap that was once Mad Eye Moody. An obviously annoyed Trip grabs his trademark sledgehammer. "As I was saying..." The hammer comes down on the back of Mad Eye's skull, splattering bone and brains everywhere. "...Game over."



Speilberg Division is victorious with Triple H and Psylocke continuing to the final match.

"The Nightbrothers": All dead



And thus ends the amateurish retelling of an event that would've been greater served by a more experienced Watcher, but you got me, so... yeah... There you have it. Yup... So how do you officially stop watching? .... I mean, is there a button to push.... or like, a magic word, or... SHAZAM! .... ummmm... Guys, this isn't funny... Look, I'm sure you don't want to follow me around, and I'd rather not have stalkers, so... end communication... bye?

The refridgerator smelled of spilled beer and slowly rotting fruit. The man reached for the box of leftovers from his bountiful lunch. "Ah, fajitas. The gift that keeps on giving." he says appreciating the truthfulness and the sadness of this statement at the same time. The man also... "Wait, you guys are STILL here? Um, this is kinda weird... er...." Desperately, the man grabs his tequilla and drinks like there's no tomorrow. He manages to drunkenly stumble into a coffee table and smack his head.

*Fade to black*