*((Rating for mature themes))*


‘Twas the day before Christmas and all through the mall,
Were bargains for shoppers, needs catered for all,
Imported items at discounted rate,
For shoppers who had left their shopping too late,

The children lined up in a line growing quick,
For parents to photograph them with Saint Nick,
With kids on his lap, and his white flowing beard,
How could anyone know that this man should be feared?

A secret he held, a secret so ghastly,
This man who played Santa was ever so nasty,
A monster who lurked right behind a bright smile,
Whose crimes were so vile they brought up the bile,

Some folk might suggest he be dealt with the law,
A privilege for those who could simply ignore,
But Aion had seen when his patron had shown,
Photos of all of the pain that was sown,

What was needed was more than a slap on the wrist,
And Aion knew this man would never be missed,
So ’guised as a child and dressed as an elf,
He clambered on lap as he grinned to himself,

“And what can I do for you, young man, this year?”
Said Santa, hands moving towards Aion’s rear,
That fucker! What nerve! Did he have no shame?
“Why, Santa, I’ve got a gift with your name,”

The photo was pulled from out the boy’s pocket,
Along with a singular chain and a locket,
Now Saint Nicolas’ face was beginning to pale,
As he stared at the locket, his attention did fail,

To notice the pistol slide under his chin,
And suddenly fire, noise lost in the din,
A red mist blew out like the gentle spring rains,
As Aion blew out old Saint Nicolas’ brains…

“On Dasher, on Dancer, on Prancer and Vixen! On Maya and Rudolph and Dinner and Nixon!” The little boy sang.

“Now, Donnie.” She patted his head, in the way parents do. Tenderly, lovingly. Reproachfully indulgent. “That isn’t how it goes. If you sing it that way, Santa is liable to explode.”

“Heh.” The little boy smirked to himself as he played with his stuffed bear. “Such a sight.”

Elliott stood behind his red headed girlfriend and her niece in the Frozen blue tutu and full-on product placement line. He hadn’t wanted to go out for the holidays. Especially not to visit Santa, something he really hadn’t ever done. But when Kenzi made that face, he just had to humor her and go with her to help out her busy sister with the niece unit. And the kid was okay. So, whatever. Unfortunately for him, it wasn’t just the two girls he stood behind.

The line was long. There were a good ten to twenty “people” ahead of him. Oh well. At least the music wasn’t Mariah Carey’s all I want for Christmas is— what the hell was that kid ahead of him singing? Those weren’t the lyrics. Those weren’t the reindeer. And—

What, to his non-existent alien ears arose with such a clatter. He glanced towards the chair to see what was the matter. He saw.

Morbidly, he grimaced and said “Like a bowlful of jelly...”

Kenzi shot him an aghast look. Elliott glanced away pointedly, towards the bathrooms, and squeezed the backpack dangling at his side. She nodded. Without another word, he ran off. They had done this dance before. A couple seconds later, a tall man in a green motorcycle helmet with a macabre grin waltzed out of the men’s room in a black leather jacket. He raced towards the scene, tightening the green 3-fingered grip gloves he’d just pulled onto his hands. A backpack bobbed on his back. The whole transformation had taken but seconds, so he was still quick to literally leap thirty feet into the scene.

“What the hell happened,” he looked around trying to figure out cause or causer.

Aion calmly replaced the pistol into the holster he had sown inside of the elf costume. Some would argue that a .22 wasn’t worth the admission price, but the ruined mess of “Santa’s” head proved otherwise. One did not need a cannon at point blank range. He reached up, pretending to try and give Santa a wake up shake, whilst slipping the photograph into the dead man’s costume front in one fluid motion. The chain and locket he replaced into his pocket. His client would want that back, and besides, it would be too easily traced to its owner. He wiped the crook of his sleeve across his face, smearing the flecks of blood that had landed there.

This was the delicate part of the operation. The shock of Aion’s hit should ripple any moment now, provided no one had directly seen him pull the trigger. The idiot-dumb moment while people tried to process what had just happen. A small window of escape, or disguise... All he had to do was—

Something dropped out of the air.

>>”What the hell happened?”

Aion glanced around, following the voice. A strange figure stood amidst the crowd. Helmeted and leather jacketed. He narrowed his eyes, taking a moment to gauge this new arrival. Three fingered hands hinted mutant, as did the fact that he had apparently sprung from nowhere. A superhero, then? A vigilante? Time to act, and fast.

It came almost second nature to him. His small bottom lip began to tremble, and Aion willed the tears to come to his eyes. Taking a deep breath, he let out a spine-chilling wail. He pointed, and flailed, falling from the corpse’s lap. The dead man, unable to compete against gravity, slumped forward and flopped onto the floor beside him.

“Santaaaa...!” he wailed, rolling onto his stomach, hands placed near the opening of his shirt.

All he had to go on, all Cheshire had to go on, was the evidence he could see when he landed. His very special costume bathroom time had cost him the precious moments after the hit, when things like the attacker fleeing may have been visible. What he had was a scared kid, and anything amateur detective skills could handle.

Usually, he left detecting to the detectives. Police hate a vigilante. They hate them even more when they directly interfere in matters related to an investigation. Pocketing shell casings, or rummaging Santa for loot tended to make their brows crinkle and their heartburn flare.

Elliott eyed the kid from behind a tinted helmet visor. His eyes, in fact, his entire face, was hidden. The mask just made him seem a smiling fool. He still wore shoes, too. Steel toed boots. Hopefully, he wouldn’t be called upon to climb on any walls. Such was the price of anonymity in a mall and changing on short notice.

Was the kid scared? Scarred? Did he know what had happened? Santa was looking pretty rough.

The crowd moved around him, shifting, but Cheshire just stood a moment. Watching. From a distance of about 15-20 feet. Then, he stepped forward. Approached. And, the kid started to wail. He flopped,

Aaaaand Santa. Plopped.

Oy vey. Elliott paled the forehead of his helmet, and let the hand sliiide down the glass of the visor. This day, it was just going to be a disgusting pain wasn’t it? What? What else did 2020 have to offer, if not this? He was not sure what he had expected.

Here was hoping Kenzi got her niece out and off the scene. Because this, this had so not been what she had signed on for when she had agreed to show her sisters daughter Santa.

Here. A dead Santa. “And where is Tim Allen when you need him...” Cheshire grumbled. Louder, he shouted “Security!” Some elves cautiously, carefully, stepped forward. To— “Help with Santa. And call someone?”

To the kid, Cheshire said “I am so out of my depths here. If only you were a mugger, or an ax murderer. Look kid. Where are your parents?” Hopefully he hadn’t wet himself out of fear.

And how had Santa bit the bullet any way? He was no firearms expert but if it had been long range, the sound would have been... louder, would it not? He was just spitballing but it seemed to him a wound like that would likely have been a close range small caliber or— whatever. But— eh.

It just had not sunk in yet. For the moment, he focused on the kid while security elves did their work.

Aion had done his share of mugging in his life, and had even killed someone with an axe once. Some poor German soldier who had been patrolling the wrong road at the wrong time. He’d been barely older than Aion at the time, but a Nazi was a Nazi, and an obstacle was an obstacle. Aion figured that the ‘grinning’ vigilante didn’t need to know either of these facts, and so declined to mention them. The fact that the self appointed hero practically admitted that he was out of his depth boded well. Still, Aion wouldn’t leave anything to chance. A lucky amateur can cause as much, if not more, trouble than an experienced pro.

He let some snot run from his nose, before looking up at his helmeted saviour. The bubbles he blew were a happy coincidence.

“M-M-Mom said sh-sh-she had to g-g-get something...” Aion stuttered. He pointed a shaky finger across the open way, towards a large PayMart department store. He scrunched up his face, letting out a fresh bout of crying. He let his breathing become ragged, panicked, threatening to overwhelm. Controlled of course, but anyone with a modicum of experience around children should mistake it for what appeared to be. A scared young boy, overwhelmed and frightened.

The temptation to shoot and flee was there. It always was in these moments. Aion recognised the fight and flight response. That was natural. That never quite went away. Aion, however, was a professional. The difference between a professional and an amateur was the ability to master the instinct, to have the will to overcome it. To neither flee, nor fight.

“Something happened to Santa!” Now he pitched a high scream. With all the parents and children in the vicinity, he may be able to spread some panic. If he could cause the herd to stampede, there he may find an opportunity to slip away before this hero took too much interest in helping him find ‘Mom’.

Ew. Snot. So not within his comfort zone.

The kid was a stammering wreck. Crying. And mom was out of sight and out of mind. “Should be illegal...” he muttered. And oh, it kind of was.

>> “Something happened to Santa!” He cried.

And now the boy was gonna make him responsible for ruining Christmas. Gods dammit. He was already green, IRL. He got all the Grinch jokes every winter. This would just exacerbate that. And he really didn’t want— god.

He should have just let the cops handle this. But then, his old friend Benji would have interfered. Told him to “be better.”

He glanced around, sighed, and held up his hands to try and talk the kid down from starting a riot. “Look. Kid. This is just Santa’s helper and he’s, sure, having a bad day.”

That was an understatement. But— what could you do?

“Keep your voice down. You don’t want to make people more upset, or else Santa can’t get the help he needs from his, his elves. And,” he glanced over his shoulder at the not-so-distant sound of a radio. Mall cop, probably. Rubbernecking to see what was going around. “And his pigs.” He finished lamely.

“Maybe we can get them to help you find mommy.” So I can leave, he thought to himself.

“Are y-you sure he’s okay?”

What kind of vigilante was this guy? For someone who had willingly inserted themselves into the scene, he seemed awfully reluctant. Almost put upon. Maybe it was nerves? Maybe he hadn’t realised how deep the end he’d thrown himself into was until he was already committed? Maybe he was just a crappy hero? Still, he had gotten himself in Aion’s way. If Aion couldn’t shake him soon, he’d be forced to take alternative action. He was eager to get away, but he couldn’t tip reveal hand yet.

Fortunately, the hero seemed just as eager to hand him over to mall security.

>> “Maybe we can get them to help you find mommy.” 

Aion gave a snotty sniff, running the back of his arm across his nose and nodded pathetically. He let the waterworks ease a touch. “Okay...” he whimpered.

His gaze whipped over to the mall cop. A standard specimen. Middle-aged, gone to pudgy, and hopelessly out of his depth. A better prospect than this unknown helmeted variable. Aion knew that he’d be easy to give the slip. He turned his wide-tear filled eyes up to the grinning helmet, before holding out a small hand for the man to guide him.

>> “Are y-you sure he’s okay?” The kid asked.

No. He was not. But he didn’t say that.

The mall security cop approached. “What seems to be the problem, guy?” He eyed Elliott. “Nice helmet. Inside.”

“I’m Cheshire.” He said. “Santa is hurt.” He jerked a thumb over his shoulder at the circus. People milling, elves crying. Pandemonium. “You should get your people to take a look at it. I’ll help Billy over here find his mommy. Billy, tell them that’s okay. That you want my help.”

‘Because if you don’t, they’ll think I’m kidnapping you and I’ll be in trouuuuuuble’ he thought to himself.

The mall cop eyed the kid.

“Billy is it? What Cheshire say true? He helpin’ you?”