Simon was lost in a sea of elves on a great factory floor. He sat at a desk made of a warmly-colored wood, its legs were painted red and wrapped with holly. He had a small toolbox in front of him, and a conveyor belt hidden behind it. A sea of different toys drifted past, some rustic, some modern, and all equally deplorable. Simon tried not to lift his eyes from his work lest he be made to ingest the other hallmark vomit that flooded the factory.
He had no intention to waste time laying his plans. He did not need to be told how to screw a screw into a plastic oven, nor how to assemble the battery into a toy car. It was demoralizing, for more reasons than one—first of all, these were what kids played with these days? Bah—Simon was a great, fearsome inventor! He should not be forced into a craft so trivial. Alas, he told himself as he seethed, this was all part of his plan. And luckily, part of his plan was to share his disdain.
"Children are so fickle," he scowled, "Haven't you ever seen them? They will merely throw these toys away as soon as the novelty of Christmas wears off."
"Christmas is not a novelty!" said the elf sitting beside Simon. She had purple skin and a green uniform, and Simon thought her name was something corny like Noel. When she spoke, she threw down the paintbrush in her hand and splattered the little army-man she was holding with red. She jumped when she noticed and tried to wipe it off.
"Isn't it?" Simon answered, "Everyone outside of the poles forgets it happens a day—no, mere hours after Christmas Day comes. And that isn't even mentioning how much of the world doesn't even celebrate Christmas!"
"Well, the big man fills the same niche, wherever he is," said the elf on Simon's other side. He had orange skin and wore a candy-cane colored uniform, Simon thought his name was Nick. He placed the toy truck he was working on onto the conveyor belt and turned to Simon coyly. "What's gotten into you? Did you fail your last semester or somethin'?"
Simon hissed, and slammed the top part of a box onto the board game he had placed together. "No," he tried to say calmly, "It's just that... well, say I wanted to do something else with my life? There isn't much other work than this workshop."
"That's not true!" Noel chirped. "You can care for the reindeer, or work in the bakery, or clean up all the wood shavings, or—"
"I meant," Simon interrupted her, "Work that isn't toward the effort of Christmastime."
Both of the elves went quiet. The silence was broken, after a few moments, as a whole host of doll parts fell onto Simon's desk from somewhere above. Fortunately for Simon, it was one of the masculine kinds. He picked at it with his claws for a while before, despite himself, starting to screw it together.
"There's doctors!" Noel finally replied. "We've got all kinds of doctors. There's an elf doctor, and a reindeer doctor, and an eye doctor, and a teeth doctor."
"Ohh, yeah," Nick hummed, "We did get dental not long ago, didn't we? I didn't know my teeth could be so white—who knew candy canes could stain them so badly?"
"Your mom always told you," Noel chided playfully.
The two elves laughed with eachother for a while, but Simon merely rolled his eyes and sighed. He pressed down the velcro of the doll's shirt and tossed it onto the conveyor belt.
"And to speak of all these toys," he muttered grimly as another piece-set of something tumbled to his desk. He picked up a piece to analyze it, rolling it between his fingers restlessly as he ranted. "Why must all the Earthlings get them? We elves work so hard on these toys! And yet, when Christmastime comes, the man with a sack takes them from us and hand-delivers them to all those brats!"
Simon's voice had gotten so loud that, not only had Nick and Noel stared at him with wide eyes, several of the other working elves had glanced around to peek at him curiously. Simon scanned the scene to take stock of just how many people had their eyes on him. This could be his chance. He allowed a wicked smile to cross his face. He scooted out the stool he sat on, the squeal of its rubber on the wooden floor only attracting more attention toward him.
"On the continents, they—!" he announced proudly before quickly doubling back, "Er, so I hear—the children care so little for Christmas that they hardly even find joy in the gifts their parents give them! And they demand so much, and so complicated."
Simon padded back to his desk and threw the toy-parts off of it with a sweep of his arm. Then, he scrambled atop it to scan the crowd again. If his volume hadn't attracted even more curious gazes, his height increase surely did. He continued to speak of Earth's children, their desires for the material and their hostility toward goodwill. Being an Earthling himself, unbeknownst to the elves that surrounded him, it was easy enough for him to spout off his own beliefs and anecdotes.
One old testimony his mother had told him woven in there, the many times he had seen the hopeful light in the eyes of scientific colleagues shatter relayed here. As misplaced of a context as he had found himself in, the rage that bubbled out of him was genuine in one way or another.
Eventually, all toy-making had ceased, and Simon stood as a pillar among a sea of candy-colored elves, their eyes filled with childlike wonder.
"Why shouldn't we keep the things we work so hard on?" he was nearly shouting now, "Does SANTA ever give US what he gives to the children of the world?!"
He raised his fist in an attempt to start a movement, and though a few of the elves copied him, their own anger revealed, far more turned away. Simon snarled, his stance faltering. The greater crowd had gone still and silent at his feet, and within a few moments, even the angrier ones turned away.
"Aren't you listening?!" Simon scolded, "What has Santa done for you?!"
"Better question," Simon heard Nick mumble, "What will he do to you?"
Simon pinned his ears, something about the certainty of Nick's statement sending a small bolt of fear up his form. With his ears twisted back and the silence that drifted over the workshop, he was just able to make out a sound. It was something like wood-on-wood, or... hooves, perhaps. It was accompanied by a soft sort of whistling wind, and all of the still silence a fresh snowfall came with.
Below him, all of the elves rushed back to their workstations and picked up their colorful little hammers, saws and screws. The workshop floor became a cacophony of noise, flying screws and wood chips. Simon slumped. Despite his rousing speech and the clear reaction he'd received, all his followers had been lost.
Simon refused to return to his work. Instead, he continued to cross his arms and tap his foot until any elf realized he was truly serious. He felt his heart soar as, slowly but surely, the elves began to place their tools back down and sit quietly. He took in a quick breath to begin speaking once more, however, he found all his breath knocked out of him as a cold north wind buffeted him in the back and whipped him with a host of sharp snowflakes.
He stomped to turn around to face whoever it was, and found himself staring into the eyes of a man. No—not a man. Some kind of monster. Simon felt a chill go up his spine.
It was a big creature, towering over Simon even with the desk he stood on. Most of his form was obscured by a great, blue coat, lined with a wiry, ashy looking fur. His face was a shadowy black, its color akin to the vastness of a black hole, and only lit up by two glowing red coals that crackled as he stared at Simon. Four curled horns, white and cracked like sun-bleached bones, cut open the hood that covered his face.
Simon averted his gaze, but he couldn't take his eyes off the monster. The coat continued nearly down to the floor, only short enough to reveal the fact that the monster stood on the legs of a goat. His long arms almost reached the hem of his coat as well, showing off his hands, which were impossible to ignore. They were massive, almost as large as Simon's head, and equally as black as the rest of his oily fur. His fingers curled into long, cleaver-like claws.
The monster never took his eyes off Simon. He tilted his head slightly and lifted one of his claws, flexing his fingers as if he meant to clutch him. Simon stumbled back. His heel slid from the desk and his body shot forward to catch himself. He placed his feet back on solid ground, suddenly feeling very trapped. His breath quickened and he clutched his heart.
"Psst! Hey!"
Simon opened his eyes. Noel was tugging gently at his pant leg, and pointed at the monster in front of him with a sparkle in her eye.
"Didn't you hear?" she whisper-yelled, "He asked you your name!"
"M-my name?!" stammered Simon, astonished. Suddenly he felt the gaze of every elf burn on his back, an action much more hostile than it had been a few moments ago. He rapidly waved his hands in front of his face, desperately trying to think of a name that wasn't his own. He watched his gloved hands... then, forced out, "Mittens!"
Simon felt the hot bile of shame rise up in his throat, but nobody laughed at the name he had given. The monster in front of him lowered his hand and leaned in closer. Simon felt its breath lay heavy on his chest, so hollow and bestial that he almost thought he was being sniffed. Still, it was as silent as snowfall.
Finally, without a word spoken (at least that Simon could hear), the beast backed away and stalked through the other rows of elves to observe their work. Simon followed him with his eyes, his heartbeat returning to its normal pace as he got further and further away. After several minutes of waiting, the monster finally rounded the desks again.
Simon, even after he had been inspected, had not gotten down from his workstation. Because of that, when the monster walked back his way, Simon caught his gaze again—it bored into him still, despite the fact that the monster hadn't turned its head. Even as if left to inspect a different part of the workshop, Simon couldn't help but see that the ember of an eye was still firmly placed onto him, if only out of the corner of its eye-socket.
When the monster left, so too did the deafening silence. However, the elves did not pick up their tools and set to work again. As Simon raised his head and glanced around at all of them, he found that their buggy gazes were trained onto him, as if waiting for his next move.
Simon scrambled to come up with one. But with such a threatening experience occurring, it was easy for him to find his anger and shout out about it.
"You do so much work for him!" he shouted, raising his arms. Immediately, all of his blood rushed to his face, turning his head into a small fire. Any more angry, and steam might have come from his ears. He kept yelling, "And what does he do?! He watches you like you're a misbehaving CHILD! I ask you again, WHAT HAS SANTA EVER DONE FOR YOU?!"
The elves below him slowly started to chatter amongst themselves. Just as the growl finished settling in Simon's throat, he heard a very small noise. He glanced across the entire factory floor, searching for its cause. Finally, his gaze landed on a frosty window.
Something moved behind it. Behind one pane, someone painted a smiley-face with the warmth of their finger. Its mouth was shaped like a sideways three. Behind an adjoining pane, someone painted a frowny face. After a moment, both faces were replaced by big circles, revealing Cad and Veronica as the culprits. They each passed Simon a thumbs-up, then motioned to meet them.
Simon beamed as soon as he saw them. He crouched down to grab a toy truck off the conveyor belt, and smashed it to the wooden ground below with no hesitation. For a moment, the elves stared at him in wonder.
Then, Noel grabbed a toy and copied him. After she had done it, she stared at her hands, almost in disbelief. Finally, she raised her arms up and let out a triumphant cry. Only then did the other elves start to wreak havoc on the line.
Simon rubbed his hands together and laughed maniacally. He took the chaos as his chance to hop off the desk and quietly lose himself within the crowd.
The halls of Santa's workshop were a confusing labyrinth of patterned wallpaper, wainscotting, garland, tinsel, string lights, angels, holly and ornaments. Neither Underdog nor Polly knew how long they had been wandering through it, only that all of the maximalist decor was starting to blur together.
At the very least, they had a vague sense of where they were going. They had found the den they had first holed up in, and from there, it wasn't much harder to retrace their steps to the mansion entrance and locate the workshop floor. Though even within their wandering, they hadn't found head nor tail of Simon Barsinister, nor his lackeys.
Though Polly had begun to head in the direction of the stairwell, Underdog froze. His ears pricked up as they were pierced by the littlest noise. It was hardly audible, but increasingly odd—it sounded like a bit of plastic being smashed to the ground.
Underdog didn't have time to ponder what it meant, as almost a moment afterward, he heard a cry. It sounded almost triumphant, and sent each of his hackles to their end.
"What is it?" Polly asked, approaching him, "What—?"
She couldn't even finish her statement, the throes of breaking objects and shouts getting loud enough that even someone non-super could hear it. The sounds were nearly a million little voices, all high-pitched and sharp like falling snowflakes.
Underdog and Polly glanced at eachother for a moment. Then, with little hesitation, Underdog rushed at her. Polly stumbled into Underdog's embrace, pressed against his shoulder as he shot through the hallways and stairwells in a rapid flight. He flew quickly, finally stopping when the scenery shifted from wallpapers to exposed wood. Underdog skidded on his heel and placed Polly down. Both of them gaped at the scene unfolding before them.
The workshop was a wooden factory, with colorful children's desks and conveyor belts, great pillars and ceiling-length windows. It was hard to appreciate its architecture, however, because of the veritable flood of elves that swarmed within it. They were all so wild and frantic that it was impossible to pick out one from another.
Everything was flying: toy parts, tools, screws, nightcaps. Desks were knocked over and tables were flipped. One toy was flung out of the crowd in an arc on course to Underdog and Polly. Immediately, the two rushed back, leaving the toy to land pathetically at their feet. It broke with a loud THUNK.
Underdog cast a glance across the riot to ensure no other toys were heading their way. Finally, he knelt down to examine the toy. He picked it up and brought it to Polly. It was a plastic action figure of a dog, almost in Underdog's own likeness. He held its head in one hand and its body in the other, and looked up at Polly gravely.
Polly startled when she saw the toy, bringing her hands up to her mouth as her eyes went wide. After a moment, her brow furrowed in determination.
"See if you can't stop them," she said, then reached a hand into her jacket pocket. "We'll need help for this."
Underdog watched as the surrounding Christmas lights glimmered off the handbell that Polly held. Then, he dropped the toy he held and nodded, immediately shooting off into the sky. The sudden windchill startled a few of the elves, and they stared up at Underdog with huge eyes as if they were caught. Despite that, after a mere shrug, each disturbed elf dove back into the mass of chaos and continued to demolish the toys they had created.
Underdog turned back to observe the entirety of the factory floor. The twinkling of a bell sounded in his eardrum. He shook his head to clear it, then glanced down to find Polly ringing her handbell. He took a deep breath and cupped his hands around his mouth.
"ALL YOU ELVES!" he shouted. "Calm your fire; do not destroy all the work on your shelves!"
Underdog felt the force of his shout reverberate throughout his bones. However, when he lowered his hands and opened his eyes, it seemed as if none of the elves had heard. They continued to swirl in a multicolored pile, and the toy parts they were throwing had become smaller and smaller. A wrench came flying at Underdog. He scooted to the side with a yelp.
That was enough to get Underdog growling. One of his hands latched onto his opposite arm as he began to roll up his sleeve, suddenly so angry that it felt like it would burst out of him. He had just gotten ready to reel back, when a voice even more intense than his own rattled him:
"HO-HO-HO-NO!"
Underdog glanced at the place he had left Polly. She was flanked on either side by Santa Claus and Rocket. He rushed down and landed beside her before looking up at her desperately. Polly passed him an uncertain nod before both of them turned to face Santa.
He had his hands raised to his head, and looked about the room with a crazed expression. It seemed that, no matter how much his explanation had rattled Underdog's bones, all the elves had been content to ignore it.
"Ho-no, ho-no, ho-no," he was muttering to himself. He glanced down past Polly and Underdog, sweeping a hand out toward Rocket. "Can't you do anything?"
Rocket crossed her arms and shook her head. "Why would they listen to me if they don't listen to you?" she said dryly.
That was where Rocket left it. Underdog felt something ugly stir in his stomach as he gazed upon the rioting elves. Christmas Eve was merely tomorrow, and if even Santa couldn't gain control of his elves, then he could only fear that Simon may actually win against him. From the way Polly squeezed his hands, he could tell that the same anxiety overwhelmed her.
Underdog heard a small crack as Rocket snapped beside him. With a gentle skitter and the tingling of the bell on her hat, she scampered up Santa until she had perched on the big man's shoulder. "There is one person who can fix this," she muttered, then leaned into Santa's ear to whisper.
Underdog gulped, rapidly feeling his throat start to choke up. He hoped she hadn't meant him.
Regardless, Santa clapped his hands together. A flurry of sparkles burst from them, reflecting in his jolly eyes as he exclaimed. "Yes, yes! You've got it!" he took in a deep breath and began to shout, "ANGE—"
His plea was cut off by a loud whistle. Underdog whimpered when he heard it. It pierced straight through his skull with its pitch and volume, and mixed with the noisome shouts and cries of the elves behind him, not to mention the snap and crackle of each toy they broke and every wooden board they splintered. Underdog became certain, then, that he could hear the tingling of the falling snowflakes outside, and the howling wind that blew them in.
He found himself stumbling into Polly's embrace in an attempt to rid himself of everything.
The whistle continued for more gruesome seconds, until, finally, it faded out. Underdog pricked his ears. So too had the riot.
He peeled himself out of Polly's arms and looked up at its source. Polly turned back to peek as well, her grip tightening on his biceps.
Standing behind the group and positively fuming was Mrs. Eartha Claus. Her usually pale face was almost as red as her clothing with her anger. She lowered her bony hand from her mouth and threw down a piece of her dress that she had been clutching. She ignored her husband, stomping past him to address her elves.
Underdog traced her with his eyes. The crowd of elves had frozen solid, as stoic as any snowman, and stared up at her with eyes so wide that they looked as if they might fall out. Though they had frozen, none were pretending that they weren't rioting; several still held toys between their hands, more in the middle of throwing them, and others recoiling from knocking over a desk.
"Whatever has gotten into you all today," Mrs. Claus demanded, "Had better stop this instant."
Then came the shame. It rolled over the elves like a wave, and each one shuttered to make themselves smaller. They placed down the toys they held gently, replaced their tools in their boxes, and a small group tried to stand a desk back up. Mrs. Claus swept around again, moving to stand in line beside her husband.
Santa laughed a moonstruck giggle. "I love you," he muttered softly to her. Mrs. Claus gave him a nod of acknowledgement, then he stepped forward and raised his voice to address the crowd. "But my angel is right—what has gotten into you all? Christmas Eve is merely one day away, and it seems that all of our preparations have gone wrong in some fashion! Tell me, please," his voice cracked slightly as he began to plead with the elves, "Why are you doing this?"
Underdog could almost feel the regret that wafted off of each elf. None of them were looking at their bosses, all staring at the ground, silent and dejected. It was all so quiet that Underdog could hear the twinkling of the fluttering snowflakes without his super hearing. Finally, the crowd of elves began to part. Soon emerged two elves; one of whom had a purple complexion and wore green, and the other of which had orange skin and a uniform like a candy cane.
"Th-there was this new elf," said the purple one.
"He said a lot of things," the orange one piped up, "A-about how... children don't care for Christmas anymore, and people on Earth do other things than make toys all the time."
"I don't know why I did it," the purple one got choked up, covering her face in her hands as it began to glow.
Rocket leapt off Santa's shoulder to give her a hug as she sobbed quietly. The orange one patted her back. Despite her emotion, the mention of a new elf was enough to send a slice of anger through Underdog's midsection. He was not the only one; above him, Santa Claus let out a huff. Despite the fact that they were indoors, he still released a cloud of steam.
"Which new elf?" he demanded.
"H-he said his name was Mittens," the orange one stuttered.
"Mittens?" Underdog muttered to himself.
Polly squeezed his arms. "Mittens?" she repeated, incredulously.
The anger flooded out of Santa as quickly as his breath cloud. "Mittens?" he asked quietly, "We have no elf named Mittens, from the South Pole or otherwise."
Underdog heard himself growling as a fire flowed through his veins. He let go of Polly and shot upwards to address the Clauses at eye level. "If I needed any sign for my villain, this is surely the one." He clenched his fists tightly, and fluttered around to face the ashamed elves. "Tell me where he went, for this has only begun."
The elves became silent again, staring up at the hero with wide, childlike eyes. Underdog growled to himself, smacking his head with the palm of his hand. These elves were no help at all! He turned back to glance at Polly, his eyes blazing. She stared up at him and rubbed one of her arms, seeming rather uncertain. Underdog felt his anger subside for confusion just as Mrs. Claus began to speak.
"Your villain shall do nothing," she said coolly. "Not while everything is at a standstill, and we are aware of his actions. What's important now is that we regain our footing before Christmas Eve can truly be ruined."
Underdog slumped his shoulders and let his inner flame reduce to embers. His fingers tingle with a need to set Simon right for this—but as it stood, he had gotten away with his chaos. Though it went against his nature, he knew that Mrs. Claus was right. He landed on the hardwood with a small cloud of stars.
He nodded up at her, "You are right, though I loathe to let Simon go free." He snarled for a moment as he mentioned the crook, then sighed and stood up straight. "Tell me what to do, and it will be my guarantee."
Mrs. Claus paused to think, however Santa held no such hesitation. He patted his wife's hand, which rested on his arm. "First, we must clean up our factory," he said, gazing over the strewn-about toys and overturned tables. He sternly shook a finger at his elves and continued, "And you all must help!"
Immediately the elves all chittered and skittered, breaking into groups without any direction and wordlessly righting their wrongs. Rocket gave the purple elf one more pat on the back, then sent her away with her orange companion at her side. Underdog cast one sweeping gaze across the wreckage, then spared a glance back at Polly. She quietly padded up to him and passed him a smile.
Despite himself, Underdog nodded and gave her one back. Then, he flew up into the air to fix things at a pace far faster than the elves could. Below him, Polly, Rocket and the Clauses began to help as well.