In the near future, Santa has changed industries due to the high request rates for peace on earth.
During the year he has a modified military grade sleigh and goes on guerilla missions to take down oppressive regimes.
Sleigh bells ring. Are you listenin’?
The words used to bring joy. Now they are a warning. A message to those that threaten peace on Earth and goodwill towards man.
“What are you hearing?” Jonn asked as he spun around in his chair and pulled a headphone off one ear. His twin, also named Jonn, sat silent.
They were in a circular room, backs to one another, facing walls of red and green screens. They were St. Nick’s right and left hand. Monitoring feeds and reporting intelligence and strategic guidance to the big man himself.
“He’s 90 seconds out,” Jonn Two said.
The screen showed a map of South America. A red circle over a small part of Bolivia.
“Silent is the night.” They both said.
Jonn One laughed and tapped his foot. The bell atop his toes jingled. They often thought about the old days. When they made toys. For hundreds of years he made toys.
They hated working that way. Meaningless task after task. They had always known they wanted more
Then the announcement was made. Five years ago, on Christmas Eve, St. Nick called an all hands meeting and canceled Christmas. Not only that, he unilaterally decided that the business would pivot, and go public by way of an IPO with backing from a Greenwich based Hedge Fund called O.B.M. Holdings.
The magical workforce was displaced. Elves quit — some staff just went AWOL.
But new hires came in. Once the big man revealed to the world the truth, that he was an immortal. That Santa was real and that his HQ, though in the South Pole, didn’t take long before top talent came flooding in.
SILENT NIGHT SECURITY: Applications Welcome
The post nearly broke LinkedIn.
“Target is in sight,” St. Nick said.
The pixelated sled and reindeer moved across the radar screen.
“Moving unseen,” the Jonns said in sync. When the action happened, they were parallel in all movements. M mirror version of each other. The benefit of twin elves, their magic is instinctual and rare. The big man knew this; it’s why he put them here. ‘Left and right hand need to work in tandem,’ he would say. The built-in safety net of their paired minds, double the brainpower, double the magical insight—and if they fell out of sync, he would know something was wrong.
They both sat silent, watching the audio waves across their monitors.
“We see them Santa,” the Jonns said. “They are sleeping.”
“Any civilians?” St. Nick asked.
In sync they both changed screens and rapidly scanned satellite images of the area. They moved so quickly that a human eye would barely register each picture. It was a blur of infrared imagery from all angles.
The target was a drug cartel HQ (warehouses, processing plants, planes, sleeping quarters, the whole nine).
“Ranger scout team found none and live feeds show all clear,” the Jonns said.
“Engagement strategy confirmation,” St. Nick said.
“Tactful deployment not necessary,” the Jonns said. “Clear to launch.”
“Acknowledged,” St. Nick said. “To all a good night.”
The Jonns’ screens flashed red, a countdown began at 60, over it in large candy cane shaped letters read, MISSILE LAUNCH FAILURE.
“What happened?” St. Nick asked.
“Reading failure, sir.”
“The missile isn’t launching!” St. Nick yelled.
And the system counted down. 56… 55…
A loud roar erupted through the headphones.
“Holy Mother Christmas.” St. Nick’s voice was flat. Over his audio feed, a thunderous roar echoed and in the same instant the Jonns saw the radar change and a large green blob appeared. It was approaching the sleigh head-on.
“Reading an incoming fighter,” the Jonns said. “Take evasive actions, Santa.”
No audio came back.
The countdown clock went 29… 28… 27…
On radar the sleigh changed directions. They watched the pursuit on screen.
“Santa, confirm eyes,” the Jonns said.
“IT’S A DRAGON!” The audio blasted their ears and they both twitched and removed the headphones and placed them on the panel. Another thunderous roar erupted and the headphones shook.
“GUIDANCE -“ Santa yelled, his voice panicked, the sounds of rushing winds and fire eruptions polluted the feed — “ IT’S — MOTHER CHRISTMAS — OH MY GOD! RUDOLF! NO! — DEP! — DEPLOY RANGERS — RANGERS — “ the feed ended to a chorus of incinerated wood.
The Jonns sat silent. Watching as the sleigh faded from radar.
They kept their eyes down. Never facing each other.
They both pulled closer to their desk and flipped to a display that read, “BIG MAN’S VITALS” … and it was flat.
“He’s dead.” Jonn One said.
“Yes.” Jonn Two said.
The countdown clock hit 1 and their displays flashed red. The radar rippled out from the target as the nuclear warhead blew.
“Terrible accident.” Jonn One said.
“Indeed.”
“Shall we notify the O.B.M. board to initiate the succession proceedings?” Jonn One said.
“Yes,” Jonn Two smiled. “Just as planned.”