Across every inch of the city, snow was falling. It gathered in crevices and street corners, and continued to fall in glittery white flakes. The usual harsh neon lights that permeated the air had instead all turned into soft yellows and whites. Hundreds of other decorations adorned the streets and windows of the buildings around—fanciful pine trees, angels blowing trumpets, and colorful little baubles were abound.

On every street corner stood carolers and bell-ringers, all dressed in red and so loud that they very nearly drowned out the sound of crunching snow and happy passers-by. Surely, it was difficult for the average person to feel anything but goodwill and merriment at this time of year.

However, there lived one man in the city who was most un-average—a covetous old sinner known to the citizens of Biggers as Simon Barsinister. The season of winter, to him, was nothing more than a time of fog, slippery snow and a chilly stiffness in his bones. Currently, however, he was committing no bigger sin than his weekly grocery trip. Or at the very least, within the hustle and bustle of people rushing to buy turkeys and hams and cranberries, he was trying to.

Finally, Simon managed to exit the store. He clutched a well-filled paper bag, and a growl rolled in the back of his throat. He started to stomp back to his home, each step a little slipperier than the last. He bundled the big fur coat he wore tighter around himself, and scolded and shouted at each passerby as he shoved his way through the merry crowds. Luckily, those nearby noticed that a villain was among them and backed away, and the ones further noticed the commotion and scattered.

Simon huffed to himself as a cruel smile crossed his lips. That was more like it.

Christmastime was no time for Simon Barsinister. All of the lights, the brightness, the angels, the noise, the Santas, Santas, Santas on every street—! Simon shook the ice from his whiskers as he passed by another one, waving his bell at him. Simon kicked over the tripod that held his coin-box, exclaiming, "Simon says: Bah humbug!"

Simon continued, though his little act of rebellion did not soothe him. Up ahead, he spotted a man leaning against a building. Discontent with the fact that someone would be so bold as to disturb him, Simon stomped right up to him. As he strode up, however, he recognized the man. Simon persisted.

"Riff Raff!"

As cool as the snow around him, the big wolf shook the ashes from his cigar and turned to search for the person who had called him. When he spotted Simon, his expression soured.

Simon came to a stop beside Riff, hitching up his groceries as he stumbled on the ice. He glowered up at him. "Don't tell me all of this Christmas nonsense has gotten into you, too."

Riff laughed heartily. He returned the cigar to his lips and pointed a thumb at the building he leaned against. "Dyna told me to help 'er shop," he said as he made a circle with his hand, "And I told her I wasn't going in whatever this girly-lookin' shop was."

Simon turned to observe the storefront. He cocked his brow at Riff as a smirk crossed his face. "No lingerie, hm?"

For a moment, Riff's white face became as red as the embers in his cigar. He coughed as he choked on the fumes, himself stumbling on the icy concrete. He soon managed to catch himself and get his breathing straight. Despite his obvious embarrassment, Riff answered confidently. "I don't go for the womanly kind."

Simon chuckled to himself and started to walk past him. "Right, well, I'll be off." He scowled behind his groceries, scoffing. "Talk to me when you aren't so starry-eyed with this holiday humbug."

Riff scoffed. Within a few more moments, Dyna emerged from the store with a big bag on her elbow. She grabbed Riff's arm with a big smile and hurried him along to the next one. Simon glanced back to watch, but his scowl only deepened as he watched the pair. They disappeared into the fog.

Despite the frozen-over hell of the landscape outside, Simon finally managed to reach his mansion. He settled his groceries into their places and shrugged off his big fur coat. Each ratty strand boasted an icicle and its shoulders were dotted white with snowflakes. Simon then shook off the icicles and snowflakes clinging to his body all while continuing to grumble.

Finally, thoroughly angered by all of the holiday cheer, Simon went up his stairs and set to work in his laboratory. He grabbed together a long staff and a bunch of welding tools. Long had he been prototyping this invention, and it would certainly be the end of Underdog—this time, Simon would defeat him by draining him of his very own powers!

Simon flipped open a nearby book, pulled down the protective mask, and went to solder another cord to the staff. His silence didn't last for long, a cacophony of metallic clangs came from downstairs. Though he jumped and burnt his glove, he did not worry—the noise of Underdog's entrance was different than that. He set to work again.

Again, he was interrupted.

"Boss!" called Cad.

Simon ignored him. Despite that, his two assistants scuffled up the stairs behind him.

"Boss, boss!" exclaimed Cad again.

In one swift, angry motion, Simon threw down his blowtorch, raised his mask so that he could see, turned around in his chair, and shouted, "WHAT?!"

Cad was undeterred. The damn pitbull smiled just as happily as ever, and the damn setter stood beside him, holding a plate in her hands. Attack, one of Simon's feral dogs whom he could never damn, sniffed incessantly at her waist. His two assistants padded over to him on silent paws; Simon could see that their feet were decorated in disgustingly fuzzy holiday socks.

Simon turned back to his work. "The dogs are meant to stay downstairs," he scowled.

"Aw, but boss, she was so sad-looking down there!" Cad pleaded.

Veronica sat down in a chair beside Simon, putting down her plate. Closer now, Simon could see that it was piled high with Christmas cookies. She and Cad both took one.

"Besides," Veronica said, "It's not like she can eat 'em, so what's the trouble in letting her sniff?"

Simon rolled his shoulders and took in a deep breath so he wouldn't explode. "The trouble is that she will destroy my laboratory and get coated in my chemicals and you two are indulging in this holiday humbug in MY presence!"

Veronica took a bite of her cookie as if Simon wasn't blowing up in her face. "Calm down, old man. As soon as you rule the world, you can outlaw Christmas for good."

"Yeah!" Cad shook his shoulder. Simon was so small that it rattled his whole being. "And I'd rather enjoy it while it's here."

Simon scoffed, then looked at the cookies disdainfully. "…and you baked these cookies in MY oven."

From a pocket on her lab coat, Veronica pulled out a crumpled piece of plastic. She waved it in front of Simon's face tauntingly and spoke with her mouth full, "I also found them in the back of your fridge."

"Give – me – that!" Simon shouted, ripping it out of her grasp. He clutched the plastic with a cast-iron grip as that stupid little claymation dough-creature stared joyfully back at him.

Cad hummed, as if he was also seeing the wrapper for the first time. "Looks like it's from the sixties or somethin', boss. Don't tell me you actually liked Christmas once?"

Simon's growl only increased in volume. He crumpled the plastic into a tight ball and threw it behind him. Attack's nails skittered over the tile as she rushed to chase and eat it.

"My ex-wife did," Simon mumbled as he threw down his mask and shot up from his seat. He stomped over from the table to a big window in his laboratory, and looked down upon the holiday festivities outside with all the rage he contained.

Through the fog he could make out the motion of jolly cityfolk; bright shops with holly sprigs and berries covered in glitter sitting in their windows; a Santa on that corner, a Santa on this corner… a Santa who had been so bold as to set up his donation box in front of Simon's own gate!

Simon snarled and turned to his assistants. "Simon says: I will have no more of this humbug! Why should everyone—even my own partners— be so merry this time of year!?" He started to pace, gesturing wildly with his hands as he ranted. "I've let myself be far too dormant this time of year. And joy is so fickle—why, if they had no holiday spirit—"

Simon stopped pacing then. He punched a fist into his opposite hand and glared at Cad and Veronica coldly.

"Then they couldn't stop me from TAKING OVER THE WORLD!"

Despite his threat, Cad and Veronica gained a light in their eyes.

"How're you gonna do it, boss?" Cad asked.

Simon spared a glance back at the Santa on his doorstep as a cruel smile parted his face. "I have just the idea."

Down below Simon's mansion, in the crowded city streets, Sweet Polly and Shoeshine milled about. Like the hundreds of others, they were attempting to shop for their Christmas feast and Christmas gifts.

"—candles!" Polly suddenly exclaimed, shifting her grocery bag from one hip to another. She paused and muttered to herself, "Wait… what do I need candles for? I don't need candles."

Polly anxiously circled a hand around her head as she tried to remember what she was actually meant to be doing.

"Aah – Mom is doing the duck, James is making fish, Jo's buying the drinks…" she paused to chuckle to herself, "Wilbur and Nelly are making dumplings… I'm not even pretending to remember Cauli and Shifty... what was I doing?"

Shoeshine was as calm as anything. He blew out a breath and watched the cloud it made dissipate in front of him. "Dessert, sugarplum," he said kindly.

Polly smacked herself with the ball of her hand. "Dessert!" she exclaimed with a snap. She sighed, "Right, I always bring dessert."

Shoeshine chuckled to himself as he watched her. He pulled his hood a little further past his eyes as the "cold" brought a pink flush to his face. Polly continued to make her way through the crowds, equally as merry as the people around her. Shoeshine never strayed too far behind her. As she dropped a coin into the box of a bell-ringing Santa, she sighed.

"I'm glad you've come with me," she said, pausing to glance at Shoeshine, merely a step away. "I'm surprised you aren't patrolling around, making sure there are no villains afoot. Who knows what they'll get into this time of year."

Shoeshine watched another breath-cloud blow away, "I have always thought of Christmastime as a good time." He recited, reaching for the groceries that Polly carried. "A kind, forgiving, charitable, pleasant time; the only time I know of, in the long calendar-year, when people seem to open their shut-up hearts freely, and think of the people below them as if they were really fellow passengers to the grave, and not another race of creatures bound on other journeys."

Though Polly handed him her bag, she scoffed at him. "You have to stop reading all those old books, loverboy."

Shoeshine chuckled to himself but didn't refute her. Polly weaseled her hand into the crook of his elbow and continued to lead him along. "I'm a little worried."

"Why?"

Polly grumbled, "If I was a crook, I'd love to rob something on Christmas. Everyone's too busy to notice, and every register would be stuffed-full with cash. Why wouldn't the criminals act up?"

Shoeshine threw a cautious glance around the area. Luckily, the couple had reached a strip of sidewalk that no one else had taken interest in. "I've never been Underdog near Christmastime before," he said, "Not to stop crime, at least. Just fundraisers and events for the kids."

"I know," Polly replied, raising her fingers to her lips. "That's what worries me."

"Don't," Shoeshine smiled at her, "You're worried enough this season without needing to worry about Underdog," he elbowed her gently. Polly laughed, playfully batting at him in response.

Unfortunately for Shoeshine, Polly was right to be worried. Up ahead on the street they walked on, the glass windows of a shop suddenly burst open. On instinct, Polly shrieked. The glass shards became lost in the snowdrifts below, and two dogs soon flew out, with big satchels tossed over their shoulders. Shoeshine shoved the groceries into Polly's arms and leapt after them.

He paused in front of the storefront. As he chased the two crooks with his eyes, he recognized the mutt and the setter as Simon Barsinister's two assistants, Cad Lackey and Veronica Magus. As they ran, a red ornament fell out of the bag Cad was carrying. Shoeshine leaped upon it. He knelt briefly to pick it up, and examined it for a moment in his hands. Then he huffed and shut his eyes. When he opened them again, he could see through the two satchels.

Christmas baubles, tinsel, and a box of candy canes—Shoeshine shut his eyes tight before their bags could catch fire. He started back toward Polly, rubbing his eyes. Soon though, the owner of the store rushed out, hysterical and shouting. Shoeshine returned the one ornament he managed to capture, and then extended his arms to take Polly's groceries again.

Polly handed them over numbly, staring at Shoeshine with wide, dumbstruck eyes. He turned to walk back down the street the way they had come. Polly hesitated, glancing between him and the store with the broken window. Then, she rushed after him.

"Aren't you—" she panted, "—going to stop them?"

"They didn't take any money," Shoeshine answered, offering his hand to her. Polly took it, rubbing the ball of her hand over the long healed-over scar that split Shoeshine's palm in half.

"But what about the stuff they stole!" she cried.

Shoeshine scoffed, smiling despite himself. "There's a million other ornaments, they'll be alright. I'd hate to leave you alone."

Polly gulped, finally getting her breath back in the crisp air. The comment seemed to offend her. One of her brows furrowed, but her face held a playful smirk. "Why? You think I can't handle a little Christmas crowd-crush?"

Shoeshine smiled back at her. "I couldn't leave you to flounder. Who knows what villains are afoot?" he teased, "Imagine what they'll get into this time of year."