Round Robin Christmas Story

Santa Claus as Shift Work or

S.A.N.T.A. Is Up To No Good

Part One: by Charlotte Walling

“He’s an interesting choice for Kris Kringle.” A man with salt and pepper hair lowered himself into the seat directly across from Jason in the small Piper Navajo passenger plane. The seats were arranged in groups of four, each with a pair of seats facing another pair.

A middle aged woman with brown hair took up the chair next to the man. “Let me get a look at him.” She grabbed the glasses that hung around her neck on a gold chain, slid them onto her nose and examined Jason’s face. “It’s in there. Look at the bulb on the end of his nose. Add bushy eyebrows and augment the cheeks with a little latex and he’ll do just fine.”

Jason touched his nose self consciously.

“I’m Margaret Bennet.” The woman reached her hand out across the small space between them. “You can call me Maggie.”
Jason took her hand and shook it. “I’m Jason Detwiler. Nice to meet you.”

“This is Jim Jones.” The woman gestured to the man with salt and pepper hair. “We’re the night shift Mr. and Mrs. Claus.”

“No jokes about the name.” The man pulled out a pipe and began to fill it with tobacco. “It’s just not funny.”

“Oh Jim, he’s so young. He probably doesn’t even know what you’re talking about.” Maggie laughed nervously.

“You two already know each other?” Jason knew exactly what Jim was talking about but decided it was better to let it go. “How long have you been doing the show?”

“Let’s see. They started the North Pole Live Webcam in ’03. I’ve been with them since the beginning. Jim came onto the show last year.”

Jim lit his pipe and puffed on it. “They outsourced my job to China two years ago.” Smoke poured out of his mouth as he spoke. “I do this charade so I can make ends meet for the rest of the year.”

“What a coincidence.” Jason jumped at the chance to explore common ground. “I took this job after I was laid off too.”

“You get outsourced too?” Jim raised his eyebrows.

“No, I was in real estate.”

Another woman clambered onto the plane and started down the aisle toward them. This one was much younger than Maggie. Her hair was red, her skin was pale and dotted with freckles.

“Oh this must be your partner in crime, Jason.” Maggie looked up to the other Mrs. Claus. “We’ll have to cover those freckles. I’m Maggie and this is Jim and Jason.”

“Hello.” The woman nodded her head and dropped a bag into the seat across the aisle. “I’m Jessica.”

“This will be all of us then.” Jim struck another match. “Now, we can get a move on.”

“This can’t really be everyone, can it?” Jessica took the seat next to Jason.

“Believe me, lady, no one but us would want to be going to Barrow, Alaska, in the middle of November.” Jim settled back into his seat.

“But what about the other cast members?” Jason looked to Maggie.

Maggie looked to Jim.

Jim didn’t even look up from his pipe. “Don’t bother with the other cast members, kid. They won’t bother with you.”

Part Two: By Jen Blake

The flight to Barrow was uneventful, without even turbulence to keep things interesting. It was the dullest flight Jason had ever been on.

Finally arriving in Barrow, they were met by the largest man Jason had ever seen. He had the height of a basketball player and the girth of a linebacker. Dressed in black slacks and a tight fitting black turtle neck, the man approached Maggie with open arms.

“Maggie, it’s great to see you.” He bent down to kiss Maggie’s cheek.

The older woman reached up to the stranger’s bald head and planted a kiss right on top. “It’s good to see you, too.”

He shook Jim’s hand before turning to Jason and Jessica. “Welcome. You must be Jason. Jessica.” He shook hands with each of them in turn. “We’ve been expecting you.”

“I’m sorry. You are . . .” began Jessica.

The man’s reflective sunglasses made it impossible to read his expression, though his voice was apologetic. “Forgive me. I’m Donnerd Blitzen, Don for short, and I’m head of security. Mr. Duggar has been detained, so he sent me here to greet the plane. If you’ll follow me, please.”

Don led the group into the terminal. Whether Don’s menacing presence or the size of the group, employees seemed to back away as the new arrivals were led down the hall and into a plush conference room.

After indicating they should take seats at the large mahogany table, Don handed each of them a red two-pocket folder. “You must be thirsty after your flight. We have water, sodas, coffee, Kool-Aid, whatever your preference.”

Jim shot Don a menacing glare which the head of security ignored. Maggie giggled while Jason and Jessica each rolled their eyes.

Once everyone was settled, Don called their attention to the intercom in the middle of the table. “We’re ready, Mr. Duggar.”

“Good. I trust you had a pleasant flight,” came a voice from the intercom. “Allow me to introduce myself. I’m Greg Duggar, CEO of Socially Acceptable National Toy Association. I apologize for not being able to greet you myself, but I really can’t get away right now. If you could please open the folders Don handed you, you’ll see my card with all my contact information.”

Jason opened his folder and found the stark white card with raised gold lettering. It read “Gregory Owen Duggar, CEO” with office, cell and fax numbers, as well as an e-mail address.

“I trust you introduced yourselves during the flight, so there’s no need for that now,” the CEO stated.

Maggie was the first to speak. “We did. Jim and I are ready, though I’m sure Jason and Jessica have questions for you.”

“I’m sure they do, Maggie,” Greg agreed. “And many of their questions will be answered by reading the information Don passed out. I’ll give you a few minutes to scan the information and if you see something you’d like to address right now, we can. Otherwise, you have my contact information. Unfortunately, we don’t have as much time as I’d like.”

Part Three: By Donna Coppedge

Jason looked out the window into a barren shadowland of darkness. “It’s 2:00 in the afternoon. You know, I looked up Barrow on Wikipedia. Night started in November and daybreak will be January 23! I don’t think I’ve ever seen such a desolate place. This sure as hell isn’t the North Pole of Christmas cartoons!”

Jim responded, “We aren’t outside anyway.”

Jessica said, “Oh here look.” She pulled out a brochure and began reading: “Barrow is the largest town on the North Slope. There’s about 4,000 residents. Eighty percent are Native and..”

“What the hell did we get ourselves into?” Jason mumbled. He raised a sheaf of papers in small type. “What’s all this legal mumbojumbo?”

Jessica scanned her set. “This is gobbledegook legal jargon. It doesn’t make sense.”

Maggie smiled, “It will once we get started.”

“But it is my understanding that we perform our roles as Santa and Mrs Claus for a webcam on the Internet sponsored by Mr Duggar’s company, Socially Acceptable National Toy Association. Why do we need to sign legal documents then? What’s the need? And for that matter, why would there be a need for a security person?”

Mr. Duggar’s smooth voice came on the Intercom. “Why Jessica, you do have a questioning spirit. There’s a lot of money to be made on the Internet, especially over the Christmas season.That’s why I can pay you so well to be Mrs Claus.” He lectured, “There are greedy people out there who are unscrupulous. They don’t have the true Christmas spirit that I believe you have.”

Acting as if all was resolved, Mr. Duggar said, “Jason, do you have any concerns?”

“Mr. Duggar, I appreciate the job. I am looking at this like a grand adventure.” This job was going to keep foreclosure away.

“If that is the case, we will get on splendidly. Now. Don will take you to your home for the next few weeks. Good luck to all of you.”

An hour later they were in a large warehouse. One end was similar to a college dorm with a lounge, small kitchen and tiny bedrooms. The rest was like a large stage set with cameras and lighting It was bustling with people who seemed to be technicians.

A man approached, “I’m Rudy St. Nick, the director of this production. We go on-line at midnight tonight. The next few hours will be the only time we will all be together. Get settled in your rooms, freshen yourselves and we will meet back here for dinner and work in an hour.

Jason went into his assigned room, unpacked, showered. Taped to the back of the closet door was a newsclipping dated 7/16/09. It was about a dark, floating mass stretching for miles through the Chukchi Sea, off of Barrow. The goo was fibrous, hairy and when it touched floating ice, it looked almost black. Eskimo hunters notified the Coast Guard and they analyzed it. It was not oil, which was the first concern. Test results showed it to be a massive bloom of algae. The Mayor of Barrow, an Inupiat Eskimo, stated in all of their traditional history there was never such a thing and they were very concerned.

Part Four: by Stacey Twiggs

There was something truly ominous about that news clipping and Jason couldn’t help but think it had something to do with the strangeness going on. He found himself wondering, what kind of crazy people would put on a Christmas play in the full blackness of the winter Alaskan sky, except those truly dedicated to Christmas? Such as children or bona fide happy, jolly people who shone with holiday cheer. Not tall, creepy bald security guards smelling of rotten Christmas trees and fake snow and strange unseen business men who only speak through intercoms as if they had something to hide. Plus, those contracts and all the legal jargon gracing them really was rather confusing. He felt as though he needed a lawyer just to understand it. Who needed a lawyer to know how to put on some makeup and a fake beard? He almost felt as though he had signed away his soul, just to be Santa?

He carefully took the article down from the closet door and pocketed it. He decided to talk this over with Jessica before dinner. Out of the rest, she had seemed the only one nice enough to genuinely acknowledge him as a person and not a business opportunity, and also seemed just as confused as he. Besides, if he was to play Santa and Mrs. Santa with her, he ought to get to know her one-to-one.

But his mind immediately flashed back to the real estate scene when he stepped back out into the semi-dark empty hallway and the already freaky florescent lights barely lighting it began to flicker. His first thought about this huge building was, they could never get this to sell for a decent price.

He couldn’t help but walk back into his room and drag a chair out into the hall, stepping up on it and tapping the light to see if he could make it stop flickering. “What do you think you’re doing?” He startled when he heard the deep booming voice of Mr. Donnerd Blitzen, the security guard. His name had almost made Jason chuckle earlier, but the creepy way he was staring at him through those tinted glasses and the reflective surface his bald head created for those flashy lights made him go completely serious. Especially since the man was tall enough to be eye level, and Jason was standing on a chair!
Jason could only reply, “uh, just trying to fix the light, Mr. Blitzen.”

The creepy man stared at him a moment longer before he said simply, “that’s my job. You’re wanted in the common room for dinner. Everybody’s waiting.” He walked away. Jason breathed again for the first time since he’d stopped talking and got off the chair with a shiver and his heart still pounding. That was just downright unsettling.

Then he realized something. He pulled the newspaper clipping out of his pocket and looked it over again. There were the obvious pictures of the disaster of the so-called algae, but a small picture in the middle of the article showed the individuals responsible for discovering the minor catastrophe to begin with. Peering a little closer, in the very rear, stood a man taller than the rest, bald, with those shiny black sunglasses. He was barely visible in the darkness. Mr. Blitzen.

“Coming to dinner?” Jason startled again by the voice behind him, only this time it was Jessica and her bright cheery smile. It was quite obvious the place didn’t seem as creepy to her as it did to him. That made him feel better—a little.

He gave her a smile and said, “yes, I am.” She nodded and made her way down the hallway with a cheery expression and an excited skip in her step. He couldn’t help but think as he glanced back down at the article in his hand, she’s cheery now, but give it time. Just give it time.

Part Five: By Debra Kemp

Jessica O’Malley, code name—Vixen, was the best agent in the ELF organization. ELF, the Enlightened Labor Federation, had been following the SANTA organization since 2009 when that fibrous, hairy mass had been discovered floating in the Chukchi Sea. The reports had determined it was algae. ELF wasn’t so certain about that. And Greg Duggar was their chief suspect in the case.

Despite her professionalism, Jessica stopped short when she rounded the corner. She gasped at the sight before her. In the span of an hour the place had been magically transformed into Santa Claus’s North Pole cottage/workshop. She could hear the song from the kid’s TV show about Rudolph, “WE ARE SANTA’S ELVES,” piped in from hidden speakers. Techs, now dressed as elves, bustled here and there. One adjusted the plate of cookies on the table next to an overstuffed comfy chair. Ruddy St. Nick, clip-board in hand, gave the tech a thumbs-up.

“Wow!”

Jessica spun to see that Jason had caught up with her.

“They did all this in an hour?” he said.

“Amazing. But don’t you think it’s strange?”

“That they do their job?” he said.

Jessica refrained from rolling her eyes. You don’t become the best agent by being a poor actress.

“I mean don’t you think it’s strange they went through all this expense for a live Webcam shoot? There is no way all these people are local from Barrow. So where did they come from? There are no roads in or out of Barrow to anywhere.”
“I hadn’t thought of that. Hungry? I see food.”

Typical of a man, she thought. She was indeed hungry though so she followed him to the kitchen area. A variety of appetizers had been laid out. She took a piece of sliced sausage from a crockpot.

“Hmm,” she said. “Try this. It’s reindeer.”

“Reindeer?” Jason said, shaking his head. “No way could I eat Prancer!”

“Really, it’s good. I vacationed in Anchorage a few years ago and tried it then. Been wanting it again ever since.”

Jason filled his plate with slices of paper thin smoked salmon, cheese, meatballs in a thick red sauce and some chips.

Jessica glanced back to the corridor to their rooms. Still no sign of Jim or Maggie. And the techs were too far and too busy to hear her conversation with Jason.

“I still find this setup strange,” she said. “Why bother flying us all this way?”

“For the ambience of the north?”

“That’s just it, Jason. I’ve been an actress for a few years now and usually when the production selects a location; they use it for that—as in outdoor locales. Things they can only get in that particular place. Why fly us to a sound stage in Barrow, Alaska, when they could set up a soundstage somewhere warm, like Florida? Where there’s civilization. And roads in and out.”

She filled a glass with tea from a glass pitcher, marked “SWEET” and squeezed a slice of lemon into it.

Part 6: By Dorothy Rosby

"To be honest," said Jason, "I find the whole thing a little weird too. Look what I found in the back of my closet." He tookthe clipping from his pocket.

"In the back of your closet?" She took the clipping and studied it. "Look at this. The words 'not an oil spill' and 'Dangerous' are underlined. It's almost like a message--or a warning," said Jessica.

"That's a little dramatic," said Jason.

Jessica ignored him. "What's this? A phone number? A code?"

"What are you? A detective," Jason teased.

Jessica blushed. "Just curious." She pointed to the number written in faded red ink at the bottom of the article. "Do you think I could take this and read it later? It's pretty interesting."

"What's interesting?" Maggie had appeared suddenly with Jim at her side. Both were sipping from plastic cups. Jason refrained from asking if it was Kool-Aid.

"This place. It's really something," Jessica said, a little too quickly.

"What you got there," said Jim, his eyes on the newspaper clipping.

"Just an article about the algae bloom," Jason said, taking the article from Jessica and stuffing it back in his pocket. “It was in my room."

Jessica frowned at him then turned to Maggie. "When do we get our costumes?" she said, a not-too-graceful attempt at changing the subject.

"Let's ask Rudy," said Maggie. She linked arms with Jason and Jessica and led them across the room to the director who was deep in conversation with a group of other cast members. "Rudy, you remember Jason and Jessica, your day shift Mr. and Mrs. Claus. They think they need costumes."

"Of course they do," said Rudy. He looked Jessica up and down, but didn't bother to look at Jason. "The costume shop is in the basement, down the back stairway. Jason, you can head down there in half an hour. Someone will help you. Jessica, I'll take you there myself now." He still hadn't taken his eyes off her. Creep, thought Jason.

Before she turned to follow Rudy, Jessica whispered to Jason, "Keep your mouth shut about the article."

Mrs. Claus sure was bossy, thought Jason. Or maybe she was concerned about him. That wouldn't be a bad thing; she was kind of cute. He finished eating then wandered through the Christmas scene until it was time to head to the costume shop.

The stairway was chilly and dimly lit and Jason shivered as he started down. An elf and a Santa were coming up the stairs toward him. Neither bothered to return his hello. Then as the elf reached Jason's step, he stuck a foot out and sent Jason tumbling down the stairs. Jason landed at the bottom with a grunt. Through half closed eyes, he could see Santa standing above him. "Let me help you up," Santa said, grabbing Jason by the shirt collar with one hand and making a fist with the other. Jason felt a sharp pain in the side of his face and everything went black.

Part 7: By Michaelia Kendall

Lying on his back, Jason awoke to the sound of holiday cheer. He heard logs popping in a fireplace, a xylophone rendition of Here Comes Santa Claus, and he could swear that he heard the sweetness of a distant child’s singing. He felt as though he slept on a cloud, weightless and cozy. He opened his eyes and saw nothing but a canopy of crushed, red velvet.
He remembered nothing of the stairwell.

Preferring side sleeping to back sleeping, he rolled over, and as he did, roused his sleeping companion. She stretched and yawned, and upon seeing Jason, she gasped and sat straight up, eyes darting around the room. “Where are we?”
Jason caught a glimpse of her old-fashioned, white, ruffle-necked, cotton nightgown, and grinned slyly. “Well, I’ve never had an erotic dream with Mrs. Claus in it, but there’s a first time for everything.”

Jessica looked down at her night clothes, gasped again, before narrowing her eyes back at Jason. Then, much to Jason’s surprise, she turned squarely to him in the canopied bed and slapped him across the face, his already-bruised cheek a perfect bull’s-eye.

Jason winced, now well aware of a previous beating he wished he could remember. Suddenly fully awake, he rubbed his cheek as he, too, sat straight up. “Have you no sense of humor?”

She ignored him and flipped the covers off of him to reveal his bare legs, uncovered by his own old-fashioned pajamas—a men’s nightgown, not exactly Jason’s first choice in sleepwear. “Your jeans?” The tone in Jessica’s voice demanded an answer.

Jason yanked the covers back self-consciously. “Do you mind? First, you hit me, then you strip me of my dignity?”

“I only dish out what’s deserved.”

“Good. Then you can save it for whoever put us here. I’m not your enemy here, and besides, I have no idea where my pants are, or any of my clothing for that matter. All I remember was being told that it was time to change into my costume.”

Jessica slumped. “That’s all I remember too. I guess we can say bye-bye to that newspaper clipping.” She sighed, saying nothing for a few moments as she again glanced around the room, this time spotting a round, double-paned window, like a window on a ship, like a portal to the outside. Light shone through it. “That’s odd. It’s never daylight in the winter here.” She stood up and walked over to it. “It’s a floodlight overlooking the sea. How do you suppose that we’re above ground instead of below? I thought we went down a stairwell, not up.”

Taking blankets from the bed to wrap around himself, Jason joined her at the window. He looked down, far below, to where the ocean swirled green, like an overflowing toilet bowl, like a sink clogged with stringy dark hair.

“The algae,” they said in unison.

Part 8: By Karen Hall

“Look. They’re mining it.” Jessica pointed. “We’re on a processing ship.”

Jason peered out the porthole. Below them, giant knobbed wheels jutted out of the ship, turning like a paddlewheel over the edge of the black algae bloom and, slowly but inexorably, pulled the stringy mass into the bowels of the vessel.

“I’ve got to find out what’s in that stuff.” Jessica searched the room for something—anything—to wear over the nightgown.

“Hurry. Find something to wear. We’ve got to get out of here.” She slid into thick red Mrs. Claus slippers, grabbed a red velvet cloak and slung it across her shoulders, then headed for the door.

“Wait! Where are you going?” Jason dropped the blanket, stuffed his feet into shiny, felt-lined black boots and clumped after her.

“To find out what SANTA’s up to.” She pulled at the door. Locked.

“Just a sec.” Jason extracted a thick steel hairpin from Jessica’s costume bun. “I can pick it.” He grinned. “Real estate experience. It comes in handy after all.”

A few minutes later they cracked the door open, listened, and slipped out into the frigid corridor.

Nearly half an hour later, after traversing endless freezing passages, climbing down countless stairs and trying innumerable doors, they edged onto a catwalk near the ceiling of a huge, warm warehouse-like space that stank of water-borne biology and burning rubber. Noisy equipment churned below them, steam exhausted from many vents, and people in bright yellow hardhats and white coveralls manned control panels.

“Oh, my god.” Jessica leaned out over the catwalk. “It’s SANTA. That’s their logo on the uniforms. They’re extracting oil from the algae.”

“Not only that, they’re making something out of it. Look.” Jason pointed to the other end of the monster plant where automated conveyors shoved containers the size of small sheds under shiny spigots that filled them with a thick, clear liquid.

“Looks like corn syrup.”

“Can’t be. They wouldn’t use something as expensive as oil to make corn syrup when there’s plenty of corn. At least in the lower 48.” She pointed. “Hey, isn’t that Jim?”

“Yeah. And there’s Maggie, too.”

The other Mr. and Mrs. Claus, dressed in white lab coats and hard hats, stood on a platform near the filling station for the clear liquid. Jessica edged farther along the catwalk, peering down at Maggie. “She’s holding something, and it looks like they’re talking about it. Can you make it out?”

“I think it’s…no… Wait. She’s sniffing at it.”

“That’s weird. It’s a toy, I think. A truck, maybe? But it’s clear, not colored. Plastic?”

A hand clamped onto her arm and Jessica twisted away with a sharp, “Hey! Let go.”

But it wasn’t Jason.

“You two have led us on an interesting chase this evening.” The man holding both their arms reminded Jessica of Jacques Cousteau: charming French accent, lean build, stringy white hair.

“Who the hell are you?” Jason demanded as Donnerd Blitzen and several others she didn’t recognize ran toward them from both ends of the catwalk.

“I’m Greg Duggar.”

“But…your voice. You didn’t have that accent before.”

“I use an electronic translator, which is why I prefer the intercom. Americans don’t like the French very much.”

Part 9: By Jared Rittberger

Gunfire exploded in the distance as Donnerd Blitzen fired his gun into the air like an inner-city school boy, ordering Jason and Jessica to put their hands up. Jason obeyed while gagging, now realizing the foul odor was not from algae. During last night's dinner, he noticed numerous nasty, but unmistakeably French hors d'oeuvres like fermented frogs' feet and pickled horse penis. He now smelled them again, emanating from Duggar's rotten, greenish-yellow teeth.

"Ugh! The French!" Jason mumbled before puking.

"So this whole charade was a smokescreen to help the French extract oil from algae?” Jessica asked Duggar while Donnerd continued to approach.

"You have it backwards. We are not extracting oil from algae. We are taking algae out of the sea and putting oil into it before dumping it back. And not precious crude oil, but oil from plastics; oil from garbage like plastic bottles, toys, and Hollywood celebrities. Together with my special chemical, the algae grows exponentially before freezing in the Arctic waters to form vast, impenetrable masses that can support vehicles, tanks, aircraft....even armies."

"The French are invading America?" Jason asked.

"That's ridiculous," Jessica responded. "Even the Girl Scouts could defeat the French!"

"Oui, this is true," Duggar said, embarrassed. "But the French aren't invading. It's America's neighbor who is."

“The French Canadians! Those no-good, pungent, pickled-peter-eaters!"

“No Jason, not Canada! Remember what Sarah Pailin said, “I can see Russia from here!”

Interrupting the conversation, Donnerd finally joined them.

“What’s going on here?”

“Relax, Vladimir. I'm explaining the truth about SANTA.”

“Ah, yes, SANTA, Sochel’nika Amerikansta Narodov Tain’i Armiya, The Christmas Eve American People’s Secret Army. Well, since they know, I can finally remove this annoying electronic translator suppository and talk normally.”

Jason watched as Donnerd fumbled with something in the back of his pants before removing his sunglasses. Obviously, Donnerd was on steroids, giving him a massive growth spurt and making his hair loss complete. But despite the presence of his beard and additional weight, Jason recognized those familiar weasel-like eyes as those of Vladimir Putin, the perpetual president of Russia. He now also understood that under disguise, Rudy St. Nick was Putin's little sidekick, Prime Minister Dmitry Medvedev and Maggie was Anna Chapman, the voluptuous redhead deported months ago, a spy in the KGB's infamous Bimbo Battalion.

“Wait a second!” Jessica demanded. “Russia is a bankrupt cesspool inhabited mainly by prostitutes, drunkards, and mafia-types, a giant version of New Jersey! Can the Russkies still afford to take over the world?”

Putin laughed while Duggar explained.

“Because SANTA promised to create thousands of new jobs in minority Eskimo communities, your government gave SANTA hundreds of billions of dollars, no questions asked!”

“Da!” Putin added. “Stupid Amerikanskis! We make invasion of your country and you pay for it! Now you know truth of Obama’s stimulus. So to answer question “Can Russkies take over world?;” Yes, we can! By Christmas Eve whole of Russian army cross Chukchi Sea on frozen bio-chemical superhighway to Alaska before rolling on to lower 48! In meantime, foolish Amerikanskis are distracted while watching Jason and Jessica be Mr. and Mrs. Saint Nikolai!

“Nonsense! The Air Force will destroy the Russians before they even get close!”

“Au contraire!” Duggar laughed. “SANTA's grand finale is the flight of hundreds of planes delivering toys from Barrow to needy children in the lower 48. Those planes have incidentally been ordered from Russian factories and delivery to Barrow is taking place now, with NORAD's clearance.”

“Da!” Putin interrupted. “And each plane carry not toys, but nuclear bomb! Air Force would be stupid to resist! By Christmas morning, Amerika is forever neutered! Like French Poodle!”

“Watch it Putin! We’re on the same side!”

“Apologies. Now it’s time for drink.”

From behind, Jim Jones appeared with two cups of Kool-Aid, forcing Jason and Jessica to drink. As they lost consciousness, they heard Putin's taunting voice.

“Sleepy time! Remember to smile in morning! Your comrades in Amerika watch you! Happy Christmas!

The End