Celebrity Deathmatch

They knew that this was the big one. They were ready for it when it came.

They also knew, realistically, that they could not win this. But like true soldiers, they went into battle anyway. They would not go down without a fight, and that was what mattered.

They were primed for it. Plenty of sleep on the flight had refreshed them. Large quantities of vitamin C had fortified them, and there was not a trace of alcohol in the blood - nothing that would reduce their fighting efficiency.

They had fought the good fight before. Each time, they had been beaten into near-submission, but there had always been an escape route. The option of tactical retreat had always been open earlier. Not this time. This time, they would not be able to run away to home base and heal their wounds. This time it was the long haul.

It began the moment they stepped out of the Dum Dum Airport. No warning bells sounded. Just and attack of brutal violence. The message was clear. No quarter would be given. There would be no respite.

Skin was the first casualty. This was not really a surprise. He was, after all, the first line of defence. He had prepared for this one before everyone else. Economy-sized packs of Vaseline Moisturiser (with Aloe Vera), exfoliating face scrub and Clean and Clear astringent had fortified him. But not enough... not by far. He was beaten by a devious double play. The smoke battered him down, while the retreating monsoons destabilised his units from behind. The oily T-zone had always been a weak link, and it was exploited to the hilt. When the acne hit, he had no response.

Respiratory System held up longer than expected. He was, after all, the weak link in the team. Unfortunately, his position was crucial, and replacements were hard to come by. RS had never lasted beyond one day. Also, they felt that he had become soft. Clean fresh zephyrs from over the Lake had spoilt him. He wouldn't be able to deal with the Smog, they said. But he showed them. He fought on. Days past, and he was still holding up. It was tear-jerking. It was inspirational. When he finally fell, he fell hard. But he had not deserted his post for two weeks. The Smog had to tear his cold, dead alveoli from their position.

Digestive System was the fiercest fighter in this battle. He had an ace up his sleeve. They hadn't seen the switch to vegetarianism coming. In one stroke, he reduced their modes of attack by three-fourths. He also had an advantage over the others. He had the choice of picking his battles. But he was no Iron Clad. All it took was one badly chosen battle. He was down.

With the big guns out of action, the fringe players didn't last long. Hair had turned to straw before anyone had even noticed. A voltage mismatch took care of the face. The eyes were never in it anyway.

The fate of the ears and fingers was sadder. They were done in during off-time. They all thought the pool would help. That it would strengthen all the players. They neglected to consider its effects on the ear. The weak eyes conspired with the murky water to take out the fingers.

Three weeks. The brain was left alone. Battered and bruised, and very much alone. Remix videos assaulted it from all sides. But it was only when it found itself looking at the Brain Killer itself, also called the ToI, that it knew this fight was over.

It was all over bar the shouting.

Which never happened, since the throat was too far gone.

But there was no reason to despair. Three weeks. It was a new record.

Well done, brave soldiers.