 I glugged down as much of that liquid diabetes as I could, before finally my body just can't take the crap anymore. The bottle falls to the floor as I retch, spewing out a pool of that awful, dirty, motor oil-colored liquid. The shock comes right away, of course. I knew it would. My body doesn't care, though, that blasted cola keeps pouring out my mouth and nose. When the flowing stops and I'm down to the spits, the guards come to lift me to my feet. One grabs my arm, while the other wipes my face, right after setting down a newly opened bottle of that crap. You, uh, think we need to change his wardrobe? Some skinny bastard says behind the camera. The guard wiping my face steps back for a moment. Nah, he'll be fine. Let's just finish the shot. No, I shout it out. No more, you're gonna give Santa a damn stroke drinking all that. The shock came again, harder this time, with the expression of a plank of wood. The guard picked up the bottle and shoved it into my hand. Do the shot, he said. The camera light flashed on. I sighed, put on my jolliest smile and kicked back the bottle, doing my best not to gag. I suppose you're probably wondering what the hell I'm doing here. A very long time ago, I was known as St. Nicholas. Every year on one night, I would travel the world bringing joy and gifts to the children of the world. It wasn't like how they portray me now. Yes, I've seen what the damn Canadians did to me. Joy was spread, gifts were given, and cookies were stolen. But it was never so obvious. Good old dad would somehow remember buying this special present for little Jerry, even though he would never have had enough money. Same thing for good old Sally, who already had more presents than she needed, but Santa doesn't discriminate. Mom and dad remember buying that extra one? Or maybe Santa says screw it, because there's already a hundred damn presents under that damn tree, and how the hell are they going to remember buying each and every one? Point is, I liked being a legend. People knew me, sure, but they didn't know if I was real. True, every once in a while, little Timmy the Orphan boy might mysteriously find a toy horse under his bedroll. But little things like that is what keep a legend alive. Also, sometimes little Timmy got nothing. That's because that year, little Timmy was also a little shit. Anyway, I lived on the North Pole, rounded up a bunch of elves, yes they're real, and lived in peace amongst the talking bears, yetis, and the other wonderful magical critters of the North, until the Canadians came. I was neighbors with some locals down south, didn't talk with them much, but occasionally they'd give me some meat, I'd give them some gifts, we got along. Then one day, they came telling me that these strange men in big ships had come and were burning down their homes and murdering them all. Well, Santa ain't no bitch. Santa rode his little sleigh down, ready to give those British sons of bitches as good as they gave. Turns out, they had guns. Santa didn't have guns, Rudolph is dead, just so you know. Canadians. Anyway, they've been holding me in custody ever since. No more Christmas spirit, no more presents for Timmy. They've been holding me hostage, interrogating me for years, trying to get me to give them the secret to the magic of Christmas spirit. Eventually, they got smart. I didn't spill any of my secrets, of course, but eventually they figured out how to use me in other ways. Guess a bit of my magic spills out into those ads they make. Sure, they do some video editing and shit to make us look like stupid cartoons or whatever, but it's us. Do you think the Christmas spirit is about joy and caring? It used to be. But not anymore, materialism now. You're talking to yourself again, sir. A whiny little voice rudely interrupted me. Damn it, Gloomsy. I yelled at the elf that had just popped into my cell. Santa's trying to write his memoirs. Need to have it all memorized, Gloomsy. The whole world's gonna know what that damn Canadians did. Yeah, Gloomsy. A second voice said, this one sounding like a cheery toddler decided to suck on a helium balloon. Santa's here, old Mr. Nick is busy. He's doing very important work in there. Oh my God. Me and Gloomsy both groaned as Gleamy popped into existence. Everything's all ready to go, sir. Your eyes are red and the sleigh is chipped up. Are you almost ready, sir? Oh, what's even the point? I muttered without looking at that elf's stupid grin. Oh, golly, don't say that, sir. Gleamy replied, you can't be giving up hope here. This will be the year, sir. I just know it. Like you don't say that every year. Gloomsy spoke my mind for me with an eye roll. No, that's no attitude to have, Gloomsy. We gotta have hope. Besides, I have a really... Damn it, you little imp, shut up. I snapped at Gleamy. We try this every year and every time it goes wrong and the Canadians find a new creative way to torture me. What's different this time? Are you going to strap a bomb to Blixom and fly him into my cell wall? Do you little freaks even have a bomb yet? Every damn year, the Canadians get better and better and we're just stuck with what we had last year because you stupid imps can never innovate. We did finally put a ham radio on the sleigh. Oh, that's nice. How does that help? What's the special plan this year? While poor Gloomsy looked like I'd nearly given him a heart attack, Gleamy still had that stupid grin stuck on his face. He blinked his eyes twice at me. All you need to do this year is befriend your new cellmate. Here to help us out, I just know it. I laughed. Well, it started as laughing, but quickly broke down into crying. So they were going to stick me with another Yeti. And the best plan the elves had was to get it to somehow break me out. I hate Yetis. Being stuck in a closed space with one is not a good time. The Christmas spirit might make old Saint Nick hard to kill, but that doesn't mean he doesn't bleed. Er, dat himner. Gleamy said before disappearing. Sorry, sir. Gleamy added, before also vanishing, while I continued to weep. Somewhere in my wing, a door opened and the thudding of the guards' boots could be heard echoing off the floor. I expect to hear the roars and snarks of the monster they were about to bunk with me. Instead, I heard something unexpected. Hey, get your damn hands off me. A voice said in the distance, Yetis, don't talk. I'm telling you, the man you want is Lester. That's right, Lester. Big ugly warlock guy. I didn't do nothing. I looked up, surprised to see a young man being dragged by the guards. He was struggling fruitlessly against their grip. Look, I ain't supposed to be here. I got a whole thing going right now. Actually, how would you folks like a jab? He said with a smile before the cell door opened and he was thrown in face first. The door slammed shut and the guards marched away without so much as a word. Suddenly the man shot up. An unusual smile stretched across his face. It disappeared after his eyes fell on me. Who are you? He beckoned. I'm Santa. I replied. The man suddenly started to laugh. Oh, great. They stuck me with a nut. He said before crashing himself on my bed. Normally, this would make me angry, but I was feeling more curious. So what did you do to end up here? I asked him. The kid looked up to me and flashed the most unsettling grin Santa has ever seen. Oh, Santa Pop, you don't want to know. I slowly backed away and sat in the far corner of the other bed. It wasn't long before the thumping of boots was once again heard, making their way through the halls. Must be time for my interrogation. Normally this was the worst part of my day, but I'll admit I was glad to get away from whoever this was. His name is Sorrier, sir. I could hear glooms he say, but I couldn't see him. The guards had me strapped down to the water board again. Not that that's what they were planning. They got bored of that ages ago. Give it to me straight, gloomsie. I replied. Is he naughty or nice? A long piece of paper suddenly unrolled itself off my belly and onto the floor. I could hear the little elf shuffling through it, looking for the name. Oh my God. I heard him say to himself, well, nerdy, very, very nerdy. Yeah, well, he gave me that impression. And that's why we're going to serve him the meaning of the Christmas spirit, sir. Suddenly gleamy was knelt over my face, staring right into my eyeballs. We're going to lift his spirit, get him to help you break out, and then Sorrier will be on the nice list and Christmas will be saved. It'll be just like one of those movies they make about you. Gleamy, get off Santa's face. The stupid elf blinked twice and hopped off somewhere I couldn't see him. You two really think we can work with that? I asked. His brother Johnny made a nice list. Why can't he? Gleamy replied. Well, it's something. What does little Johnny want for Christmas? Maybe he cares about his brother enough to help. Works like he want a bag of crystal meth, sir. Oh God, I cried out. I was about to let those little imps really have it, when suddenly the room flashed a bright blue light. I wasn't sure what was happening. The elves suddenly started screaming in agony, even gleamy. I heard the door slam open and several people suddenly rushed in. We got him. We got him. Someone shouted out. Two little bodies were practically seizing on my belly before I felt unknown hands take them away. What? What the hell did you bastards do? Hey, you leave the elves alone, damn it. I screamed at them, tearing it my restraints to the best of my ability. Worthless, of course, they really ignored me. And just as soon as they came in, they were gone, carrying my two screaming friends away. My last two friends. I didn't even have time to process it. As soon as they were gone, I heard a lone pair of feet slowly walk into the room. Good day, Mr. Nicholas. I heard Dr. Kondraki say. I could almost feel that twisted smile he'd shown me so many times before. Are you feeling chatty today? Hey, who shat in your cornflakes? Sawyer said to me as I slumped down in the opposing bed. I didn't answer him. Not sure he cared. Dr. Kondraki had been my interrogator for the past 20 years. He's been one of the more creative ones. Always finding new ways to make this jolly old fellow scream. Never got much out of me. But the Canadians were getting smarter, starting to figure things out themselves. Aside from the usual, today they also informed me of what they'd do to the elves if I didn't give away my secrets. The fact that they had them alone was bad news in itself. This year might be my last chance to make it out. Hey kid, I muttered to him. He looked up with a bored expression. You want to get out of here? Sawyer's face suddenly lit up in a smile. I thought you'd never ask. He exclaimed, jumping out of my bed. So, uh, Santy, what's the plan? Santa was kind of hoping you'd have one. Oh, cool, cool, that question. How long you been in here? Santa stopped counting after a hundred years. Huh. So, let's assume for a moment that's true. You've been here for over a hundred years, and you still don't have a plan. Santa had lots of plans. Just, they were all shit. Yeah, okay, gotcha. How about this? When the gods come by to fetch one of us again, we charge them and run. This is what Gleamy wanted me to put all my faith into. Ugh. Then again. That won't be enough, I said to Sawyer. But, if we can steal the keys from the guards, we can set the yetis free. Those things are dangerous. But if we can outrun them, they might be enough of a distraction. Can Santa run? Sawyer said. Eh? As he poked me in the belly. Santa will be just fine, I said. Smacking his hand away. No one touches Santa's belly. No one but Mrs. Claus. All right, old man. You sure you're going to be able to take on the gods? I flashed Sawyer a smile. Santa has a shank stuffed up his stocking. Twas the night before freedom, and all through the cells, not a peep was heard, though we still had the smells. Then the door opened, and the boots came thudding. Me and Sawyer stared at each other. We thought ourselves cunning. The boots came to a halt, and our cells slipped open. Sawyer and I stared in silence, not a word spoken. The guards marched in, thinking we looked meek. But a surprise he did get when I shanked him in the cheek. His friend caught off guard, cried out in terror. But Sawyer with snapping teeth, quickly showed him his error. The brute pulled away, and gave me a smack. But as my name is Saint Nick, I gave it right back. His friend lifted Sawyer in the air, while he cussed him out with a menacing glare. My foe unprepared reached for his taser. While poor Sawyer panicked, begging for my favor. I shanked him again, but his body was armored. Then with a swing of his arm, lighting my poor body harbored. I cried out and screamed, but was not alone. For Sawyer had gotten his friend, biting his nose to the bone. My foe turned to help, moving quite quick. But with a sweep of my leg, he went out like a wick. With a punch to the face, and another to the jewels, Sawyer turned to me, and smiled, for we had proven who were fools. As their bodies lied in agony, breathing their last breath, I grabbed hold of my shank, and I stabbed them both to death. The siren suddenly blared in our ears, as I searched the guard for the key. Quickly, I yelled as soon as I had it. We don't have much time. Sawyer grabbed a taser off the floor, and the two of us ran as fast as we could. He turned a corner, and skidded to a halt, or I did. Around that bend, at least 20 of them were coming right for us. Sawyer, though, Sawyer just kept charging forward, like a little maniac. You fools! He said, his taser in hand. I have lightened, feel the wrath of Thor. Sawyer, no, they have. My attempt to warn him was cut shut by a sudden pale blue light that nearly made me go blind. Beyond the blinding flashing, were screams thudding, and what I assume was Sawyer laughing. When the flashing finally stopped, there were about 20 charred bodies lying on the floor, and my new cellmate standing in the middle of it all, with a disturbing smile. Yeah, Santa thinks he's starting to understand why they put you here. I said, eh, what do you mean? Sawyer replied, his grin turning to a confused frown. Never mind, let's find the yetis. It wasn't hard. All we had to do was follow the sound of the monstrous screams. I'm not even really sure why the Canadians kept them. They couldn't use them the same way they used me, and they were a lot of trouble to keep alive. When we found their block, I took the key and started unlocking as many doors as fast as I could, not opening them. They were smart. They'd figure that out. Just unlocking. When I heard the first cell door swing open, I turned around, bracing myself to run from the monsters. Instead, I saw my dumbass cellmate holding one of their doors open, a curious expression on his face. Oh my god. He said, there really is a yeti. I thought it was just going to be some hairy homeless guy. Sawyer. I yelled out, just as that awful scream roared through the hallways. Sawyer's eyes shot wide. Okay, bad idea. Run. He didn't wait to finish before sprinting off. I didn't need him to tell me. As soon as that idiot set the first one off, they all started throwing a fit. We sprinted down the halls as the creatures charged after us. Up ahead, the pounding of the guard's feet began to echo their way towards us. Luckily, we found an intersection in the hall. We both shot down it, just in time to hear the first guard scream. Uh, right. Perhaps you got us this far. Now what? Sawyer asked. We need to find the elves. I replied. The what? Santa's elves dickhead. They got two of them. Thankfully, he decided not to question us, hopefully seeing the yetis as a wake up call. We found Gloomsey sitting in a fish tank in the warden's office. Warden wasn't exactly happy to see us, but Sawyer gave him the taser. Gloomsey, I called out to him. Where's gleamy? Gloomsey looked ahead at nothing with a thousand yard stare. I strangled him to death. He said plainly. I was quiet for a moment. You know what Gloomsey? I finally replied. Santa understands. I tore off the lid of the tank and dumped the shell-shocked elf out. Gloomsey, get the thing. He nodded without so much as turning his head and then in a poof, vanished. So, uh, that was your elf? Said Sawyer. As sure as my name is Santa Claus. I said, flashing him a proud smile. It, uh, looked like a little demon thing. Well, Santa doesn't let the kids see them for a reason. Huh, so what's the thing he's getting? The side of the warden's office suddenly exploded in with bits of wood, concrete, drywall, and reindeer flying in a beautiful spray over us. Blixon's head shot out and rolled to the floor at Sawyer's feet, followed by the most beautiful sound I've heard in over a hundred years. Sleigh bells. What the hell? Sawyer exclaimed. Gloomsey was sitting outside in my wonderful sleigh. I'll admit, the elves had kept her in wonderful shape, even had a fresh coat of paint. Santa told you already. Now come on, I shouted at Sawyer, and with that, the two of us jumped on my sleigh that night. Immediately there was gunfire. The three of us ducked for cover, sending the deer in zigzags to avoid death. Dancer and prancer went down. Good old gleamy crawled up the reins and cut the corpses loose like a champ. Then there was that awful whistling sound. Hey, it's a missile. Sawyer shouted out. Quick, there's presents in the back. Throw them out. Sawyer quickly crawled back and started heaving the gifts at the thing. Finally, little Timmy's rocking horse hid it square on and it exploded in a flash behind us. Little Timmy had been a good boy that year. He was definitely dead now, though. We all cheered as we finally flew out of range of the hellfire and made our way off the calm Canadian night. Well, me and Sawyer did. Gloomsie was probably going to need therapy. So, ah, Sawyer said over the rushing frozen air. How exactly did you drive this thing? Ho, ho, ho. I let out my jolliest laugh. I was in a great mood. Take the reins, Sawyer. With a glistening smile, he took them into his hands. Now just pull in the direction you want. Give him a good smack if you need more speed. We're heading north, Sawyer. I'm taking you to the North Pole. So, ah, that's really all there is to it, huh? Ho, ho, ho. Simple as can be. Now, without warning, the little shit suddenly shoved me off the sled. As I descended, screaming into that icy wind, I saw poor Gloomsie get flung out as well. The landing was not nice. I remained motionless, transfixed in rage, as the Christmas spirit slowly mended my broken bones. In the distance, I could hear the faintest. Ho, ho, ho, dickhead. I take it this means a permanent place on the naughty list. Gloomsie said, from somewhere. You bet your ass it does, Gloomsie. I growled, pulling my head out of the snow. Wait, what the hell you got there? He appeared to have dropped his phone, sir. Gloomsie said, he had a phone this whole time, huh? Where the hell was he hiding it? Not sure, sir, but it doesn't smell nice. Give me that. I grabbed the device and opened it, clicking on a button with the face of something that looked almost like an elf. Sawyer the sadist, huh? I quickly began typing. What are you doing? Gloomsie asked. I'm telling the whole world, Gloomsie. Santa wants the whole damn world to know that Sawyer the sadist just stole Christmas.