[Friday, 24 December, 2258 | A Christmas Miracle]
Thirty-eight hours ago, Ms. Nagal opted not to shoot Virginia. In fact, she was so overcome by the Christmas spirit that she wheeled the girl into her office, placed a headset over her head which again stretched the girl’s eyelids open, and left her to watch the footage on repeat. Footage about civic duty within the city, or more importantly, what happens to those who disobey the laws governing it.
Virginia was forced to watch the lucky ones, managing to skirt punishment at the cost of living in poverty. She watched the rare few who are caught, arrested, and locked in cells for the remainder of their days, never to see the lights of the city again. And Virginia was also made to watch the majority, those killed by the city’s soldiers, the agents, the knights, the freelancers. Shootings, stabbings, decapitations, all thanks to the search for freedom.
Now, after more than a straight day and a half trapped in her chair being subjected to Ms. Nagal’s snuff film, it is over. The screen goes blank, leaving Virginia in darkness. The sharp hooks holding the girl’s eyes open retract, allowing her to finally close her stinging eyes. The straps in the chair open, releasing Virginia from the vice-like grip she has been in for most of the previous week and a half. The girl’s entire body feels like jelly, but it doesn’t stop her from lifting the headset from her head.
It is dark. All the lights inside Ms. Nagal’s office have also gone out. Through the darkness, Virginia can see Ms. Nagal’s outline rummaging around her desk. “Why hasn’t the back-up generator kicked in?” she mutters to herself.
Ms. Nagal picks up her phone and dials around. Each and every attempt fails; the signal is jammed. “Fuck!” the shouts, smashing the phone against her desk.
The duo hear a thud come from above. It reminds Virginia of Santa Claus, landing on the roof to make his annual delivery. It is a sound she has never heard before, but it sounds like she always imagined it would. If only she wasn’t asleep by this time every night.
“Santa’s got a bullet in his gun,” Virginia hums. “You know it, Santa’s got a bullet in his gun.”
“Child. Shut up and get here now.” Ms. Nagal’s gun is pointed at Virginia, and the young girl decides that if she wants to live long enough to see Christmas Day, she’d best do as instructed. Soon after she approaches, Virginia is gasping for air as Ms. Nagal wraps her arm around her neck. The woman violently presses her gun against her temple.
The two hear a crumbling sound from above, and look to the ceiling. A laser is cutting through the concrete roof, making a rough circle. Suddenly, a large chunk of concrete falls onto the ground below. And after it, falls Santa Claus.
Santa Claus is just as Virginia had imagined. The red stocking hat sitting atop his head, his greying hair flowing from underneath it. His perfectly coiffed beard covering the lower half of his face, while the top half is about half cybernetic. Santa’s red jacket hangs down to his ankles; it is left open, revealing his chiseled six pack and rock hard abs. His nipples are made of steel—literal steel. His lower half comprises red cargo pants offering pockets for every occasion, and black military boots.
Before Ms. Nagal can react, Santa aims his pistol and fires. A bolt of electricity hits Ms. Nagal between the eyes. She drops to the ground; all that remains is a body convulsing its last convulsions, before her eyeballs burst into flame.
Devoid of any emotion whatsoever, Virginia stares at Ms. Nagal’s body. To the girl, the loss of Ms. Nagal’s life is just another death. Granted, Del is the only other person who had died in front of the girl, but the previous 38 hours were filled with death after death after death.
Santa extends his hand to Virginia. “Hey kid, you wanna get rid of that chip? Take my hand.”
Virginia smiles as she takes Santa’s hand, finally feeling safe. “Can you also give me a cybernetic eye? Please?”
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