Sniper walked, moving through the base at a steady speed. His boots beat out an even rhythm, serving as an accompaniment to the cacophony he approached. As he drew closer, the noises grew louder. Soon, it became easier to distinguish separate sounds, like the hiss of a blowtorch and the buzz of a drill, but all this grated on Sniper’s honed senses. He reached a door and slammed it open, bringing the turmoil to a crescendo. In a room full of grease and gadgets, a cluster of contraptions nearly concealed a red sleigh. On creaking metal arms and growling treadmills, they moved on the whims of an unseen master as they worked away.
“Oy!”
Everything stopped, and a hand appeared in response to Sniper’s shout. With one smooth movement, Engineer pulled himself into view, beaming amiably through the oil on his face. He pushed aside the suddenly still machines and strode over, wiping off the grease on his brow and goggles.
“I see you’re busy, mate.”
“Well, I figured I’d fix up the old-timer’s ride, seeing as how it was my sentry that took him out.”
“Looks to me that there’s a bit more than fixing going on here.”
“You’re right about that!” Engineer chuckled. “Y’all know I don’t like doing things half-way, so I threw in a couple of… improvements for ol’ Saint Nick.”
“You’ll need to finish up later then. Medic has the poor blighter stabilized.”
“And he wants to rustle everyone up so we can see him break more scientific frontiers, right? He’s a good fella, our medic, but he’s a bit of a glory-hound. Reckon we should bring Santa some milk and cookies?”
“Not likely. The way he is right now… solid food ain’t an option.”
*****
“You maggots had it easy while you were in the fat and jolly brigade! Packing on the pounds and loving the goldbricking life! But you’re in my unit now and the sight of you already sickens me! Just listening to you flabby fatsacks wheeze makes me want to personally choke each and every one of you by hand! I should load a rocket and mercy-kill the whole lot of you! However, I am feeling unusually merciful today, perhaps the spirit of the season can touch even this old soldier’s heart.”
“You’re not out of the woods yet though! Oh no, I might not be blowing you to bits, but you’ll be wishing I did once I’m through with you! I’m going to take you fat maggoty lumps and sculpt you into such fine specimens of excellence that God himself will fall to his knees and weep! I will grind you down until you are dust! Then, I will piece you back together as the ultimate fighting force! When I say ‘jump’, you will already be three stories up! When I say ‘run’, you will have already broken the sound barrier! When I say ‘fight’, every living thing in a five-mile radius will already have spontaneously burst into flames before then exploding into bloody bits!”
“You! You disgusting filthy loathsome contemptible piece of slop-swilling scum-spitting slime! You are the worst example of maggotry in this entire motley crew! I can see I already have my work cut out for me when it comes to you! It may take me forever and a day to whip you into shape, but I will take you through hell and back to do it! Then, I will take you back into hell because the previous excursion did not sufficiently satisfy my blood-lust! I will make you cry! I will make you bleed! I will break you, unmake you and remake you into whatever shape and form I see fit! Before this day is out, you will beg me to kill you, to tear out your throat with my own teeth! But I will not do this because I am a god! I am an ancient god both merciless and uncaring! I am a god who exists only to delight in your pain and suffering! I am your god! What! Do! You! Say! To! Your! God?!”
Rudolph nervously farted.
*****
Engineer and Sniper walked across the catwalk, nonchalantly observing Soldier pummelling a red-nosed reindeer as they passed. They entered a doorway and climbed down a long flight of stairs, down towards where Medic had his lab. Strange chemical smells floated up to meet them, invoking more images of pickled organs and gruesome experiments than that of healing and recuperation. They reached the floor to see the others: incomprehensible Pyro, slow yet steady Heavy, aloof Spy, severely tipsy Demoman, and the increasingly distraught Scout. They were all watching an upright tube of sickly green liquid, in which Santa floated. He had been completely unclothed, revealing his surprisingly hairy body. One of his fingers twitched, tapping against the glass.
They walked forward, stopping next to Pyro. The completely-covered figure turned and gave a cheery wave.
“Mrrrf! Mrf meh!”
Engineer caught the toy bear that Pyro had thrown. He looked down at the fuzzy thing, noting that it had a small mask just like Pyro’s. Apparently, the RED team’s resident flame-handler had been experimenting with Santa’s sack. Pyro offered a spark-spitting nutcracker to Sniper who declined. Meanwhile, Scout was tapping a foot nervously and fingering his dogtags.
“This is seven kinds of screwed up right here man. I can’t believe this is even happening. Santa Claus! And we nearly iced the guy!”
“It’s not so bad, he’s still breathing an’ in one piece, right?” Demoman remarked, right before he took another swig of his morning Scrumpy.
“Engy’s gun shot all the blood out of him!”
“We’ve had worse done to us.”
“We’re different! He’s a jolly roly-poly elf-guy who flies around making kids happy! We’re… we’re…”
Scout hesitated, unsure of how he could describe nine different sociopathic individuals, all equipped with a variety of skills that deal primarily with the speedy decimation of other living beings. Demoman patted Scout’s shoulder comfortingly.
“We’re a bunch of mad bastards. There’s no denying it, laddie.”
Without warning, Medic appeared and marched swiftly to the front of the group.
“The procedure,” Medic announced triumphantly, “was a success! Though not as efficient as the Medigun, this recuperative liquid (which I shall call Medigoo until a more suitable name presents itself) will gradually mend both the external and internal injuries that Herr Santa had sustained in his unfortunate accident. The process is slow, but is ultimately necessary due to the drastic condition in which the patient was found. I predict at least a week before he can be released from the container, whereupon he must then be subjected to a series of tests.”
Pyro made an inquisitive mumble.
“And of course… I have taken great care to ensure that though Santa will soon be as good as new, he will be new like the way he was before he took some rockets to the face. In no way will the Medigoo cause untoward side-effects, turning him into a grotesque monstrosity whose visage will drive people insane.”
As he spoke, Medic surreptitiously moved a hand behind his back and crossed his fingers. He turned once he was finished, and disapprovingly took note of Santa’s tapping. Medic walked over to a panel of buttons and a tray of worrying instruments. He continued his speech, “There is only one last thing to take care of, and that is his infernal twitching! This is simple enough though, with an increased dose of anesthetic and perhaps some applied ‘pressure’ in the correct spots.”
Medic reached for one particularly ominous button, only to be stopped by sudden pressure on his wrist.
“Wait,” said Sniper.
The Australian assassin stalked over to Santa’s recuperation tube. He crouched low, making one ear level with Santa’s twitching finger.
“Short… short… short… that’s ‘S’… short… long… this is Morse code.”
“What’s it-”
“Keep quiet,” Sniper snapped, and went back to listening. Everyone else stood back silently, waiting for him to decode Santa’s message.
“Sleigh… under… seat. Scout, go check it out.”
“Gotcha!”
Scout spun on his heels and lunged for the stairs. He hurtled upwards, taking them four at a time. He zoomed towards Engineer’s workshop, ignoring Soldier and the red-nosed reindeer he had in a headlock. In an instant, he reached the place and nimbly sidestepped puddles of oil as he made his way to Santa’s sleigh. He leapt on and rashly grabbed hold of the seat. He pulled, revealing a hidden compartment. It was largely empty except for one long sheet of paper that Scout pulled out. Reverentially, Scout gazed at it and said to himself, “It’s a list.”
*****
“Checking it twice?” Spy asked sarcastically.
“There’s nae much need for it,” Demoman replied. “Most o’ it’s already crossed out, except for a line here an’ there. Looks like Santa’s not done yet.”
Assorted eyes turned towards Santa, floating in his tube.
“No way he’ll be coming out of that soon.”
“Then who will deliver the final presents?”
“The sleigh’s working fine, and we won’t need the reindeer too. I made my own modifications.”
“We? Are you suggesting something camarade?” Medic inquired.
“I’m saying that it’d be a doggone shame to disappoint young ‘uns when there’re plenty of able-bodied fellas here who can heft a sack.”
The room went silent with contemplation, teammates looking at each other as they wrestled with their own thoughts. Finally, Heavy Weapons Guy cleared his throat.
“We make problem… so we fix problem.”
Pyro mumbled cheerily and raised a fist enthusiastically. Others soon followed suit.
“Aye!”
“Hell yeah!”
“Could be interesting.”
Heavy grinned and growled, cracking his knuckles. “Then… we sing sleighing song tonight!”
