A Future We'd Like to See 1.64 - The Christmas Episode II
By Stefan "Twoflower" Gagne (Copyright 1994)

     Hey, kids!  Remember last year, when we took a blood-soaked
visit to your local shopping mall?  We're going right back there,
and it's gonna be MUCH nastier this year.  You are hereby WARNED
that this story contains some or all of the following : kidnapping,
torture, abuse, gunplay, cutting people up into little bits, n/c
sex, mayhem, anarchy, disorder and other acts of EVIL.  Huzzah.  If
any of the above offends you, don't read this.  I don't approve of
ANYTHING in this story, right up front, so if you go and bite the
head off your mother or something like that after reading, you're
a sick fuck indeed.  (By the way, there will be cursing in this
story.  Errr... too late.)

     Also, this story is less comedic and slapsticky; there's a
slight sarcastic and cynical edge, but I was aiming for more of a
'shot in the dark' pun intended this time.  G'wan, taste the bile. 
It's fun!

     Thou hast been warned, regardless.

                              *

     "Five credits buys you five Christmas wishes," I said, nudging
the stupid little white ball on my hat away from the nth time
today.  "Ten buys fifteen.  One buys one.  Photos with Santa and
the elves are five extra.  Hurry up, lady, I've got to get out of
here before the end of the hour."

     "So do I," she said.  "It's almost time."

     "You think it'll happen again this year?" I asked.

     "Of course it will.  It happens EVERY year.  You can set your
watch by it.  I'll take five wishes and one photo."

     I ran the lady's credit card through the register,
transferring her fee and handing it back.  "Santa will see your son
now."

     "Come on, Billy," she said, urging the kid onward, who was too
busy being mesmerized by my red and white hat.

     Nobody quite knows why the Christmas Eve Riots happen,
especially at this particular shopping mall.  Each year, the
shoppers come in happy and bright, and leave in bags.  It usually
starts once the shelves start going empty... polite requests to
hand over an item turn into angry words, which become fists.  Fists
become brawls, with shoppers nearby getting involved, and
eventually weapons are drawn and the war begins.

     Psychologists don't know what makes the shoppers go berserk,
prizing packages and parcels over human lives.  Maybe it's the
color arrangements and light patterns in holiday displays.  Maybe
it's the stress of an entire life of family living building up into
a crescendo of rage.  Maybe people are just bastards.

     This year would be different, though.

     I wasn't gonna hang around this year, and neither were any of
the other mall staffers.  By mall administrative order, once seven
PM rolled around (statistics showed this to be the approximate
start of the bloodshed), all staff members would be evacuated by
crack Not-So-Secret-Agent teams and lifted by shuttle to a safe
distance.  The doors would be sealed and sleeping gas would pour
in, leaving the shoppers in a happily comfortable state before any
major anarchy can erupt.

     A bold measure, yes, but over the last decade it has been
proven again and again that nothing less than bold measures will
work.  Closing the mall for the day is no good, since the shoppers
show up on the last available day.  Riot police usually lose more
in the ranks than the shoppers do, and after two years they
officially protested being hired to guard the mall, claiming cruel
and unusual punishment.  Closing down the sporting goods store to
keep weapons from flowing freely was no good, since the shoppers
had proven they could break through the cheesy mall barricades;
adding more barricades encouraged BYOB, Bring Your Own Blaster.

     So the mall was just going to clock everybody over the head
with gas and call it a night.  Sounded perfectly fine here.  None
of the shoppers knew this, of course... that would ruin the plan.

     The clock approached 6:50 when the man in the trenchcoat
walked up to the Sit On Santa's Lap! display.

     "Five credits buys you five Christmas wishes," I recited. 
"Ten buys fifteen.  One buys one.  Photos with Santa and the elves
are five extra."

     "I'll take one wish, and that's to get you out of here," he
said.  "Not-So-Secret-Agent #46336A.  I'll be your personal escort
out of the building tonight.  Are you miss Stacey Q. Victim?"

     "Yeah," I admitted.  "When do we go?"

     "NOW.  All of the others have been evacuated already.  The
crowd is starting to get suspicious; apparently the lifelike
dummies we left in place aren't fooling them.  The staff is
considering closing early, so we'd better hoof it."

     "Early?" I gulped.

                              *

     I could see it in the crowds already.  The tension had mounted
all afternoon, building over missing items, out of stock gifts, and
inflated prices.  There was going to be a blow of anger, one after
another, all coming down in a few minutes.

     The agent practically dragged me through the crowds, keeping
a single hand locked around my wrist like a handcuff.  I tried to
avoid the bloodshot eyes of the soon-to-be-animals, and concentrate
on getting to the door.

     We were dashing by the Chicken Inna Bucket, the last stop
before the doors when we heard the noise.  It was a great grinding
of metal, as the newly installed blast doors started to descend.

     Another identical agent peered through the rapidly closing
gap.  "#46336A?!  Jeez, hurry!  We thought you were out already!"

     "I was in line for a photo with Santa," the agent said. 
"Sorry.  We--"

     The first gunshot of the night rang out.  A scream ripped the
air, followed by another, and some angry shouts.

     The door sped up to infinite velocity, slamming shut and
cracking the cheap mosaiced tiles underneath.  We weren't on the
correct side when it happened.

     "Umm," he said.  "Did I forget to mention the doors were
triggered to emergency-seal in the event of the riot breaking out
early?"

     "You don't say," I mumbled, not sure how I was supposed to
feel about this.

     "Yeah.  Audio triggered.  NSSAC spared no expense.  SHIT!"

     #46336A grabbed me and dove into a side restroom, as a
hundred-odd shoppers made a dash for the blast door, screaming and
pounding.  THEY obviously didn't want to be here, and were quite
unhappy that they were sealed in.

     The agent shut the restroom door and pushed a few tin garbage
containers in front of it.  "This is not good," he said, listening
to the moaning hordes just outside the door.  "I hope you don't
mind being gassed, miss."

     "Gassed?!"

     "We're inside the gas zone," he said.  "Don't worry, I've been
gassed a lot of times.  Part of NSSAC training.  It's not painful. 
Just inhale deeply."

     I inhaled.  Once, twice, maybe six times, but I didn't feel
very dizzy.  Did sleeping gas have color?

     "Something's wrong," he said.  "Something is VERY wrong..."

     The agent fumbled inside his trenchcoat, pulling out a cheap
radio.  "#51122, #51122, what the hell is going on?"

     'The gas was supposed to be shipped fucking YESTERDAY!' the
agent on the other end of the connection cursed.  'It's not here! 
Get your butt up to the roof, the brass is getting into a panic
about this...'

     "So am I, #51122.  I'm stuck inside a bathroom with my
escortee."

     'YOU'RE INSIDE?!?!'

     "Yeah, and let me tell you that I've got a wife and kids to
get home to, and I'm happily awaiting rescue from this hellhole
before it gets any worse."

     'Fat chance!  Nobody's allowed in or out.  You're there for
the duration.'

     "WHAT?" the agent screamed.

     'Hey, you've got combat training, use it.  Go hide out until
morning.'

     "What about me?" I asked, getting more and more agitated by
the second.  "I don't have any combat training!  I'm Santa's Little
Helper, for crying out loud!  The mall cut the budget for Holiday
Survival Courses since they had this seal 'n gas plan."

     'I'd suggest that you use rage on your escortee, we'll pick
her up in the morning,' the other agent suggested.

     "Dammit, I'm not authorized to do that!  It's not fully
tested!"

     'Your problem, not mine,' he offered helpfully.  'By the way,
our shrinks say that without the gas, the door seals are probably
going to enrage the crowd beyond any previously known limits. 
They're gonna be doing more than shopping.  Good luck, man, #51122
out.'

     "You can't just leave me here!" the agent shouted, throttling
the radio.

     'I've got orders.  Over and out.'

     The agent stomped over to a toilet and flushed the radio. 
"Suck that down, you bastard.  Great.  Just great.  You know, I
should have seen this coming.  One more month and I retire.  The
soon-to-retire guys ALWAYS bite it."

     "I thought you had combat training," I weakly offered.

     "Combat training yes.  I can take down an unarmed opponent one
on one or hit three moving targets.  Three THOUSAND is another
matter," he said.  "I'm doomed."

     "And me?" I asked.

     "Equally doomed.  Unless...!"

     "What?  WHAT?"

     "Nothing.  I was kidding.  You're doomed."

     I groaned, slumping down against a stall.  "I don't wanna be
doomed.  I've got a future to think about and a term paper due
after break."

     "Well... there is one thing... how bad do you want to live?"
he asked, tentatively fishing through his many pockets.

     "Bad?" I offered.  "Pretty damn bad.  Why?"

     "Bad enough to put up with what could be the worst night of
your life?"

     "If I don't live, this'll be the worst night of my life
anyway."

     "Okay.  Turn around," he said.

     "Huh?"

     "Just do it!"

     I shrugged, and turned around.  The agent promptly stabbed me
in the ass with a knife.

     I screamed in pain and spun around, as the agent was tossing
an empty needle and syringe, not a blade, down the trash can. 
"There.  You ought to live now.  Wish they had given me two
doses... damn these 'the victim is more important than you'
laws..."

     "What the hell did you just do?" I asked, rubbing my sore
rump.

     "I gave you the rage.  Very experimental.  Just remember, fear
is the survival trig--"

     There was a deafening roar, as a running chainsaw blade jabbed
itself through the door, cutting away at the locking mechanism. 
The agent's eyes went REAL wide behind the sunglasses as he fished
around his pockets for something lethal, but the door was open
before he could react.

     A group of shoppers barged in, plowing into us full tilt. 
#46336A was slammed against a wall, his nose jamming into the wall
and leaving a bloody smear as his head was pulled away.  I hit the
stall I was leaning on shoulder first, a two hefty sized guys
pushed me against the wall.  Another pair took the spy and braced
him against the wall.

     The boy entered.

     He was maybe seventeen, tops.  A typical gothic punk, like
some of the jerks in my grade, wearing a dark overcoat and inch
thick glasses.  He nodded to the men who held us at bay.

     "Good work, gentlemen.  I take it you, sir, are a Not-So-
Secret-Agent?"

     "Happily employed," he joked.  One of the men grunted and
punched him across the jaw, starting the constant flow of blood
from his nose.

     "You, sir, have ruined my plans for the evening with your
lockout," the boy said, pointing an accusing finger.  "Take his
coat."

     "Not the coat!" the agent pleaded.  "It's the only way I'll be
able to live--"

     One of the men pulled out a knife, and sliced the coat off the
Agent, pausing only when it snagged on random bizarre mechanical
devices which were hidden in its pockets.  The coat clattered to
the ground, spilling various concealed weapons and machines of
unknown nature.

     "Throw him to the shoppers," the boy said.  "They will enjoy
meeting one of the people responsible for trapping us here."

     The two men grinned, and dragged the agent kicking and
screaming out to the hallway.  I could hear the chainsaw start
again before the boy closed the restroom door.

     "You work here, don't you?" he asked, after the wet ripping
noises and screams from outside.

     I nodded quickly, trying not to be scared to death.  Who was
this twerp?  What was going on?  Agonizing death at the hands of an
enraged mob I could understand and expect but not this.  Nothing
organized.

     "You'd like to live, won't you?" he asked.  "That seems to be
the driving force of the night.  I've studied it year after year,
analyzing what goes on at this mall on Christmas Eve when the halls
run red with blood.  They all want to live, but don't want anybody
in their way to live.  I trust you are similar to them, and want to
live?"

     "Yes?" I offered.  Why were so many people asking me that
question tonight?

     "I'd suggest you come with me, then," he said.  "Now that the
doors are shut, I fear my plans may be more gory than previously
expected.  Only those that have already banded with me will
survive.  Right, boys?"

     The two men nodded over and over again, grinning all the way.

     "Good.  You two go organize the others and start a store to
store search for valuables.  You know what to do to anybody might
have taken them already."

     "Yeah," one of the men said, pulling a battered chainsaw out
of his cheap plastic shopping bag.  "Cut your way through.  Come
on, let's go."

     The two men stopped holding me back, and made their way
through the door, bodies barely fitting through the doorframe.

     "They're good men," the boy said.  He rushed forward towards
me, and I put my hands up to block any crazed attack... he wrapped
something around my wrist...

     "Typical reaction," he said.  "Arms up in fear.  Fear is good. 
You'll notice your left wrist is twist tied to my right one... yes,
the same twist ties used on those silly real life police dramas. 
They don't come off without the scissors I have back at my
encampment.  Don't worry, it's for your own good."

     "Who are you?" I asked, trying an experimental tug at the
happy yellow bracelet encircled around our wrists.

     "Oswald P. Faraday," he said.  "Controller of chaos.  And
you?"

     "St... Stacey Q. Victim.  Santa's little helper," I said, kind
of embarrassed.

     "Victim.  How... cute.  I could use the company; my men can
handle the organized looting, leaving me very little to do.  I
planned to leave once they started to work, but it seems your
friend in the coat has stopped that plan.  Take off the hat."

     "Huh?"

     "The santa hat.  You look like an idiot.  Plus, it'll peg you
as a store worker, and the last thing the mob wants to see is a
store worker."

     I nodded, and ripped the silly hat off my head, tossing it in
the garbage can that had been knocked aside.

     "Now, off into the fray," he said.  "I'm wearing armor under
this coat, but I'm guessing you aren't.  Try not to die."

                              *

     Fingers clawed at me, shoppers fleeing the chainsaw-toting
looters under Oswald's control.  Minor skirmishes stopped in a
global effort to stay away from these people, who didn't seem to
care if you were in the way or not; just nearby, within a rotating
chain's reach.

     I tried to ignore the lumpy things I was stepping on, bumping
from shopper to shopper as Oswald kept up an even pace through the
carnage, facial expression unchanging.

     I was trying to swallow down my fear.  Fear in a situation
like this would only hinder you; if I succumbed to it, I'd be dead
in seconds.  It took all my concentration to avoid having Oswald
turn around and see himself attached to a severed arm.  The crowds
were crawling over each other like reptiles, biting, clawing,
shouting half-coherent bawls of rage.  They attacked anything;
potted plants, dead bodies, wall decorations of reindeer and happy
little elves.  One group was singing carols around a stack of
burning shopping bags... I tried to ignore the leg sticking out
from the bottom of the blaze.

     Another chainsaw guy walked alongside us, keeping the horde at
bay as we made our way... wherever we were going.  Occasionally a
half-mad shopper would run in front of Oswald, shouting the ravings
of the truly disturbed; Oswald would frown slightly, point, and the
offending shopper's head would roll away so we could continue.

     Eventually we reached the Fountain Nexus, which was already
tainted from the two bodies floating face down in it.  This was the
pride and joy of the mall, with tasteful flower arrangements (now
mangled) and nice patterned carpeting (stained beyond recognition). 
Plus, the Crystal Elevator, a gleaming glass crystal with expensive
carpet flooring sliding up and down its shaft, carrying shoppers
between floors.

     It seemed stuck between floors at the moment, empty and
waiting.  I had never seen the elevator STUCK; it was controlled by
computer, and couldn't break down.  Oswald walked with me to the
first floor elevator stop, and whistled a completely non-catchy
tune.

     "Audio control," he said.  "Same as the doors, I think...
somewhat ironic, I suppose."

     The elevator slid to a halt before us, doors sliding open. 
Oswald ignored any attempts by me to protest and stepped inside. 
He held the door open with one hand and turned to our armed escort.

     "Make the final loots quick and easy," he said.  "Then hole up
in Unpainted Chairs and Tables until morning.  I'll be on right
here if you need me."

     "Right, boss," the sawman said, nodding in salute and walking
away.  Oswald tapped the door close button and the button for floor
two.

     The elevator lurched to a start, and slid silently up the
tube.  When it was halfway up, he whistled another completely
tuneless tune and the elevator stopped.

     He picked up a pair of scissors from the ground, and split the
plastic strip that kept us locked together.  I dashed to the other
side of the elevator, massaging my wrist.

     "Something wrong?" he asked, setting the scissors down.

     "Why'd you bring me here?" I asked.  Swallow that fear; fear
isn't good to have.  Ignore your fear of enclosed spaces and your
fear of heights and fear of strange emotionless boys in dark coats
that kidnap you...

     "Why not?" he said.  "It seemed like the wrong thing to do at
the time.  I suppose I could have turned you over to the filth and
had them tear you apart, but that would only be fun for a little
while."

     "You're Generik Evil, aren't you?" I asked.  "I've heard about
you.  You're sadists."

     "As much fun as my limited enrollment in GE was, it was that,
limited," Oswald said.  "They didn't like me because I planned
things too far in advance.  I wasn't spontaneous enough.  I engage
in spontaneity to have fun, but when business arrives, I plan. 
Generik Evil has the attention span of a flea."

     "I suppose I'm supposed to thank you for getting me to
safety," I said.

     "You can if you want.  Doesn't matter to me.  Ah, the boys
have moved on to the jewelry store... I wish they would have taken
it first, all the good resale items are probably gone now.  It
means more time taken finding them and reclaiming.  Not very
efficient."

     "You organized all those guys with chainsaws?"

     "Of course.  It hasn't gone off how I expected, but that's
okay.  Once the doors open, we can blaze out of here and get away
before anybody notices.  I get fifty percent of the take, of
course."

     Oswald paced over to the front of the elevator, observing
someone being drawn and quartered below with boredom.

     "Nobody ever thought to organize these little parties before. 
Just stop them, out of fear.  You cannot stop an unstoppable force
because you fear it, but if you bend it... twist the fear to your
will... it can be a force beyond forces.  I suppose I just
capitalized on an opportunity."

     "But your... people are KILLING everybody!"

     "Carnage is carnage and would have occurred regardless of me,"
he said.  "At least my carnage is productive and aimed, not the
screams and thrashes of a blind man in the dark.  Look; already
people down there fear my shoppers.  They're staying away, instead
of blindly attacking anything with gifts.  We have total control
over the mall now."

     Oswald cracked something resembling a smile, reflected against
the glass and back to Stacey's eyes.  "You know," he said, "I'm
beginning to like the holidays."

     "You're in my grade, aren't you?" I asked.

     "Correct.  School is dull and pointless, so I rarely attend. 
People there fear me, which I enjoy, but not enough to put up with
the rest of the dullness involved."

     "You sure as hell don't talk like someone who's seventeen," I
commented, snotty like.

     "Proud of it," he said.  "You kids talk like sheep.  Baa baa
all day about this and that.  I consider it a great praise to not
talk like them.  Why, look!"

     He pointed to the scene on the second floor, where one of the
chainsaw men had chased someone I recognized as the SGA vice
president to the railing overlooking the first floor.  He
approached, but didn't slice or grind into the trembling VP...
instead, he struck a dramatic pose and roared his saw.  The VP
jumped to his death out of sheer terror.

     "Perfect!" Oswald said, applauding but not grinning.  "There's
a man who has learned to use fear as a tool.  I approve.  Seems my
weeks of training these drop-out, unemployed, pathetic wretches has
paid off."

     Oswald turned to me, eyes drooped.  "Do you fear me?"

     "No," I lied, holding down the fear I had and trying not to
look down, or at the ceiling, or the walls, or HIM, or anything.

     "Ah.  A challenge," Oswald said.  "Since I have nothing better
to do tonight, with my boys handling the profit margin, a challenge
I can handle."

     "Ch... challenge?" I asked, dread bubbling to the surface in
measured doses.

     "Everybody has a phobia," he said.  "Maybe you're afraid of
enclosed spaces.  This cramped elevator, with transparent walls
that don't look like walls so you can't tell if they're feet away
or mere inches, and could close in without you even knowing it
until you were pressed between them like bacteria on a slide..."

     "I'm not afraid!" I protested, keeping my eyes shut.

     "Or, perhaps the fact that we're twenty feet off the ground,
and hanging on a razor thin cable... or that you could go crashing
through the glass and fall, fall farther than ever to your death--"

     "SHUT THEāFUCK UP!"āI yelled.

 ā   "Touche'," Oswald said.  "My, this is funî  Let's see, what
else can I do to instill a little fear... I could go to the first
floor, where that mob there is, and push you outāand watch as they
do whatever they please with you.  I might even laugh at that."

     "You're sick!"

ā    "You're right.  Always be trueāto yourself, I always say. 
Let's recap; fear ofāenclosed spaces, fear of heights, fear of
pain."

     "Exactly.  Everything on the mark.  Are you happy now?" I
asked, vision starting to go.  I was too afraid to think straight. 
I didn't understand all his words... it was like getting hit by a
beer buzz without drinking anything.

     "Of course, I didn't mention pain exactly.  Maybe it's
something else that human can do to fellow human..."

     Fear was out of control now, oozing through my system and
making me scrabble backwards against the glass and handrails.  I
wanted to get out of here, somewhere low, wide open and free of
people that could do horrible things to me...

     "Let's experiment," Oswald said, pulling out two twist ties
and affixing my hands to the railing I had backed up to.  I was too
stunned and confused to do much else.

     He started to unbutton my shirt.

     "Don't..." I offered, but knew damn well what was going to
happen.  I didn't want it, I was too afraid...

     "I would say relax, but it would be no fun if you weren't
afraid," Oswald said.  "Yes.  I am DEFINITELY beginning to like the
holidays."

                              *

     I blacked out shortly afterwards.  There were ghostly
afterimages of pink and white, of things in my mouth and things all
over me like pestilence swarming over a dead body.  I had strange
sensations of being penetrated, knowing exactly what was doing it.

     For some reason, in the black void, I wasn't afraid anymore. 
My fear had hit a high point and dropped suddenly, with new
emotions bubbling to the surface, looking for a way out.

     I came to, still tied to the armrail but stretched out more. 
Oswald was still wearing his coat, but nothing else.

     "Okay, so that's three confirmed," he said.  "If I said I you
had a beautiful body, would you hold it against me?"

     "That's an old joke," I said, a statement of the obvious.  It
was the only sensible thing to say.  So what if I was naked and
alone in a mad world?  It was an old, bad joke.  He shouldn't be
telling old, bad jokes.  He's a fucking asshole.

     "I never tried standup comedy, and now you know why.  You seem
quite lively for someone who has been subjected to a cornucopia of
personal terrors, violated multiple times.  Why is this, I wonder?"

     "My ass hurts," I said.  Which it did.

     "Odd, I didn't do anything to it.  Honestly," he said, making
a quick boy scout salute.  "You're not in the right position for
that."

     My ass did hurt.  One pinpoint, one point of pain and soreness
which was spreading until it covered my entire midsection.  I hated
the pain.  I wasn't afraid of it, but I hated it and wanted it to
stop.  What was it that agent had injected me with earlier?  It
stung like hell and was making me mad, really fucking mad.

     Mad at what had happened.  Mad at the dregs of humanity, lying
in broken bits all around the mall.  Mad at the stupid, pointless
violence on a night which was SUPPOSED to be a celebration of
peace.  Mad at the stupidity of it all and this evil son of a bitch
who was cashing in on that stupidity.  I had a rage boiling inside
of me, spawned on by the fear that I felt earlier, fear drained
away and replaced by this strong urge to reach across the elevator
and tear Oswald in half.

     "Ooo, we ARE lively.  I suppose I can continue the experiment
now.  Let us go back to the original thesis; are you afraid of
PAIN?" he asked, picking the scissors off the ground.

     "I'm not fucking afraid of anything," I said, gritting my
teeth and pulling at the stupid little twist ties.  "I'm not afraid
of you anymore, and I'm not afraid of your little elementary school
art class safety scissors."

     "They're quite sharp, I assure you."

     "Good.  Then they'll cut through your fucking throat like
butter."

     "I don't think I approve of this at all," Oswald said, backing
off slightly.  "Come on, play along and be afraid.  Be a sheep like
the rest of them.  You were so much FUN as a sheep.  I haven't
gotten a good lay like that in weeks.  Be my holiday gift and
scream a little, will you honeybunch?"

     That teared it.

     Literally.  I ripped directly through the twist ties, ignoring
the searing fire of blood on my wrists as the plastic bit
momentarily into the flesh.

     Oswald made his second facial expression of the night;
surprise.  Dull surprise, as I grabbed him and slammed him against
the walls of the elevator, over and over again, wanting the little
fucking turd to DIE.

     "RGRhgnh!" he suggested, no longer calm and sedate and
radiating evil.  "Don't!  You'll break the walls!"

     "You afraid of heights?" I asked.  "You afraid of crashing
through the walls and hitting the floor, being ripped apart by the
mob?  Where're your chainsaw guys now, Oswald?"

     Oswald sputtered out another quick whistle, and an alarm
sounded somewhere in the mall.

     "Coming," he said.  "Now put me down, please."

     "I don't think so," I said.

     "Have you looked at yourself?!" he asked.  "You're a wreck. 
Battered.  Abused.  Buck naked.  Bleeding.  You're in no position
to be disobeying ME--"

     I slammed him against the wall another time, with more might
than I should technically have.  Part of the window shattered,
glass fragmenting off his armored coat.  I threw him against the
floor, grabbed a long shard of glass, and rammed it through his
shoulder.

     Oswald screamed, his first scream of the night as his shoulder
was pinned to the soft carpet of the glass elevator's non-glass
floor.  A dagger of ice, rammed directly between the bones in his
shoulder.

     "How's it feel?  Afraid?!" I asked, ramming another shard
through his other shoulder, despite the cuts to my own hands, which
were unimportant.  "Good.  Fear is control, remember?  I'm
controlling now."

     "Stacey, please!" Oswald begged.  "My plans are too intricate
to have you ruin.  You want a cut of the take?  I can manage that. 
I'll even give you some of my fifty percent.  Say, five percent?"

     I grabbed his safety scissors and held them near crotch level.

     "TWENTY!" he offered.

     "All I want is the code to lower the elevator," I said. 
"Whistle it.  Whistle it or you change genders."

     Oswald quickly beeped out the tune without a tune, and the
elevator sank to the first floor, unlocked from its stuck position.

     "There," he coughed.  "Go if you want, get away from me. 
Sheesh, a guy tries to do you a favor and save you from the horde
and this is the thanks he gets?"

     "Relax, I'm not going to kill you," I said, even though the
fire burning through my brainpan screamed out for it.  "I have
other plans."

     "Terrific.  Be off already."

     The elevator went *DING!* and the doors slid open, a group of
five chainsaw guys standing there, confused at the sight of blood
and nudity and other horrors.

     "Your boss told me he was going to cheat you out of your
funds," I said.  "Have fun."

     The chainsaw boys, already teetering over the edge of
insanity, didn't need any more encouragement.  I didn't need to
look back; the sound was enough.  The scream I had just heard, only
remixed and extended.

     Rest in peace, dipshit.

                              *

     That was the only other time of clear thought I had all night,
through the haze of whatever drug the NSSA had given me earlier. 
I wandered the mall, dazed and pissed off, and found a place to
defend in the door of a software store.

     First thing I remember is being angry at the sound of the
chainsaws, and going after them.  I think I might have gotten a
chainsaw myself from one of them, because I tripped over hacked up
super-looters all night, still clutching bags of jewelry and
expensive stereo components.  The actual fighting was a blur.

     The rest of the night was clawing and biting and scraping,
trying to keep anything that moved and some things that didn't move
from getting near me.  I wanted to LIVE, and I wanted anything that
didn't want me to live to DIE.  It was a simple, clear cut motive,
like the tolling of a broken bell that never stopped ringing.

     The shoppers learned quickly to stay away from the naked girl
with the chainsaw who was stalking the software store, and I had to
grab the boxes off the shelves and rip them apart, working off rage
to keep from exploding.  This continued all night, half-distorted
mental images of reds and yellows the only solid glimpses I had
into that window of time.

     The first thing I remembered hearing was the blast doors
opening, followed by the ringing of the bells at a nearby church. 
It was Christmas Morning, the night of terror over and done with. 
I had survived.  And I wanted the BLOODY BELLS TO STOP.

     I charged out of the software store... I didn't have the
chainsaw anymore, maybe I lost it somewhere, maybe it was stuck IN
someone, I can't remember.  I remembered the group of Not-So-
Secret-Agents crowded around the blast doors, and what they were
saying...

     "...man, the stink in there... this is a mess.  We're
definitely not going to get the efficiency bonus on this mission."

     "Hey!  Something's moving in there!"

     "Get your tranq guns ready-- HOLY!"

     "Get out of her way!  Fall back!"

     "AARRGH, my leg, my leg--"

     "Drop her!"

     "Jeez, we've got three darts in her and she's just SLOWING?"

     "She's the one #46336A put on the Rage survival drug,
probably.  Come on, more darts!  There we go."

     "She's crawling now."

     "Phew.  Someone call the doc and get the antidote.  And
someone look for what's left of #46336A in there."

     "Should we report her?  I mean, she is alive, and probably
caused SOME if not most of the damage in there..."

     "Don't bother.  There's no way we could get an accurate body
count, and I'm guessing she's seen hell already... where is the
doc?  We need an antidote now!"

     "Hey, she's getting up!  She's got six darts in her and she's
gettingARRRRGh---"

     "MORE!  MORE TRANQ!"

     "That's better.  Man, we gotta ban that Rage drug.  It's too
fucking dangerous.  DOC!  Where is the doc?  There you are.  Hit
her with the antidote already."

     I fell asleep after that; not a nightmarish sleep, or a dreamy
sleep, just a sleep.  One well deserved.

                                   *

     "You alive in there?" a voice was saying.  #51122, if I recall
from the radio conversation.  That seemed so long ago, decades and
decades...

     "Mmrrgh?" I said, trying to focus my eyes.

     "Don't move.  We're busy treating your injuries.  Man, I wish
they'd tear down that fucking mall already, it's too much of a
bother to try to cure it each year.  You're damn lucky to be alive,
kiddo.  How'd your Christmas Eve go?"

     "Lousy," I said, forming each phonetic carefully, trying to
look around.

     "I said, don't move!  Sheesh.  I managed to get you a little
something from the wreckage... not much of a holiday gift..."

     I felt a warm and fuzzy sensation around my temples, as
coziness and fur-lined safety spread over my painful body.

     "It's just a silly santa hat.  I found it in the trash.  You
were Santa's Little Helper, right?  I heard you say it on the
radio, from last night.  I think Santa'd be pretty fucking proud of
you, kid."

     I nodded, neck hurting.

     "DON'T MOVE!" he repeated.  "I've got to get back to the
cleanup crew.  Bloody insulting, making NSSAC clean up the mess
just because we didn't pull the mission off 100% as planned... I'll
stop by later to see how you're healing.  Happy holidays, kid."

     "Happy holidays," I repeated, and fell asleep again, hat
keeping my brain soft and numb and quite relaxed.  I wasn't Stacey,
the many-times-over victim, or Stacey the anger-enriched demon. 
Just Stacey with the stupid hat and the term paper due after the
break.

     Just what I had always wanted.

                              *

               o/~ Should all acquaintance be forgot,
               Somethingorother, aud long sang... o/~

     Once again : Seasons greetings from us here in the future we'd
like to see, and remember, it's always darkest before you get to
open your presents.  Unless they're all socks.  And watch out for
that strangely ticking gift wrapped box, it's a doozy!

               o/~ Should all acquaintance be forgot,
               Somethingorother, aud long sang. o/~