The outside of the mall was a dizzy array of SWAT troops, police fans, and press. The situation unfolding at the mall was quick to draw enough attention away from the other headlines. John Davis and his standup routine about white people and strong women was on hold. Every person in the city was most likely tuned in to hear the news. While the press started to form in front of the mall, the police chief moved into position.

“What have we got, team?” the police chief—David Davison—asked.

He was joined by several other officers, each one out of shape and eating their donuts. The gaggle of chubbiness surrounded him, all trying to make sense of the situation.

“Not good, chief,” one of the officers said. “Looks like some Hamas terrorists have taken a choir hostage.”

“What the hell do they want?”

“Money, and some Christmas themed justice; but they want to burn the tree.”

“My god,” David’s face lit up with shock. He could picture the terrible scene about to unfold and clenched his fists. “Who the hell would want to ruin Christmas?”

“Some pissed off terrorists wanting revenge for us bombing their country.”

“That can’t be right, don’t be a god damn Hamas sympathizer. They just hate our way of life and everything we stand for.”

“You’re right chief, my bad.”

“Do we have anybody on the inside?”

“Beats me. We just gotta pray to Santa that we all have one holly jolly Christmas.”

Inside the mall…

Achmed and the other terrorists held the members of the choir at gunpoint. There were twelve of them, each signifying the twelve days of Christmas. Every one of them sat in terror, unaware what fate had in store for them. Ali and Aryan stepped forwards with their rifles, taking a moment to scope out the mall ahead. At moment, the choir and the terrorists were inside of lounge deeper in the mall.

The inside of the lounge was filled with velvet covered chairs, Christmas lights, and its own Christmas tree. The furnishings were a far cry from what they had in their home country. Seeing the decorations and the Americans enjoying their abundant luxuries had felt like a slap in the face. There was another fifty minutes before they would be executing the first, and the terrorists were yet to receive any word from the police.

“Why are you doing this?” one of the members of the choir asked.

“Silence, infidel!” Ali shouted to the man, pointing his rifles towards his face.

“Wait Ali,” Achmed spoke up. He started to walk over to the man and began to stroke his beard. “He must know.”

“We’re just having a celebration; we didn’t mean to upset you guys.” The man said.

“Your celebration has been a spit in the face to my people. After what your United States Military and their War of Terror did to my land, I cannot forgive you. I tell you, I have seen the future, and there are no more Christmas trees.”

Achmed waved towards the other terrorists, signaling them to put an end to the decorations. Muhammad was the first to act. The beautiful Christmas lights streaming across the room started to flicker and he pulled them from the walls. Ali walked to the wonderful toy Santa’s workshop with the elves and gave it a stomp. Aryan then knocked over the Christmas tree.

However, Asad sat alone in the back, seeing the people in the choir react. Their sadness had become infectious. Instead of taking apart of the destruction, he began to sulk before twiddling his thumbs.

“Ah geez, guys,” Asad spoke. “Maybe we’re going a little too far?”

“Silence,” Achmed called out to him. “We have a mission to do, and we have to put an end to Christmas.”

“Ah, alright.”

Asad nodded his head, embarrassed to try and confront them any further. While they continued the anti-Christmas destruction, Achmed looked out the window of the lounge, taking notice of some movement across the mall. It was Dick. He creeping through the stores with Santa suit and pistol still in his grip.

“Ali, Aryan,” Achmed called out. “Go deal with him.”

Across the mall…

Dick knew that he was going to have trouble trying to fight off the terrorists on his own. Instead of blindly charging in headfirst, he took shelter behind the bar to get access to the phone. He started to dial 911.

“911, what is your emergency.” The dispatcher’s voice buzzed from the other end.

“I’m at the mall, terrorists, need backup. They’re gonna ruin Christmas.” Dick replied, trying to maintain his low profile with his massive frame.

“Stay calm, what do the perps look like?”

“Like a bunch of pissed off Muslims.”

“What is your location?”

“Open your fucking ears, I already said the mall! I don’t have time for this,” Dick shouted before reaching towards the receiver to hang up the call. He stopped to think for a moment. The only person he could think of that could help him was Lance. Thankfully, he could remember his cell phone number and started to dial it in. The sound of the dial tone through the handset continued to drone on. Every second forth had been anxiety inducing. “God damn it Lance, pick up the phone.”

While the dial tone continued, he had been alarmed to see somebody diving over the counter towards him. He lifted his pistol, stopping short of pulling the trigger. It was Michael. He had been drenched in sweat, and filled with fear.

“Man, this Christmas has sure gone crazy!” Michael declared.

“Those damn terrorists came so fast,” Dick said. Lance’s voicemail had not been set up. There was no way to reach him. “Shit, I was hoping to reach Lance, but looks like I’m gonna have to team up with you.”

“What happened to Lance?”

“I dunno, no answer. He’s probably dead.”

“I wasn’t ready to be a hero on Christmas,” Michael said, face filled with shock. “What are we supposed to do?”

Dick began to think. He knew that the security doors had since been deployed, and there was no way to get out of the mall. In fact, he knew with the barricades there would be no way for the SWAT teams to get in and help. He looked over to Michael, noticing a small plastic access badge dangling off of his belt loop.

Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

“Is there a way we can override the security system?” Dick asked.

“Why would you wanna do that? It’s supposed to keep us secured!” Michael replied.

“It didn’t stop the terrorists. We gotta release those doors or we’re going to be stuck in here.”

“What do we do about the terrorists?”

“I’ll deal with them, let’s go.”

The two started to make way past the bar, ensuring that they remained out of sight of any terrorists posted. The inside of the mall was a maze. Without the help of the big maps at every corner, Dick knew he would not be able to navigate. Even then, he knew that reading maps wasn’t his thing. He would have to rely on Michael’s years of experience working as a Mall Cop to find out where to go.

The two continued on, eventually making their way towards a small liquor store. The inside of the establishment had been stocked from wall to wall with all types of luxury brands. Dick took cover once more, hiding behind a rack of fresh champagne to do another sweep of the area. He was cautious. Meanwhile, Michael was already out of breath from the extra activity.

“I dunno how you can run do much.” Michael said, panting for breath.

“I try to fit cardio into my routine,” Dick replied. “But to be honest, cardio is for pussies and it gets in the way of my gains.”

“Makes sense.”

“So tell me, why didn’t they let you be Santa?”

“Do you really wanna know?”

“Maybe another time, keep your voice down.” Dick chirped, taking notice of a pair of footsteps coming their way.

The two went for cover to keep out of sight as Ali and Aryan started to walk past the shop. They held their AK47s at the ready, trying to scope out any stragglers. Ali and Aryan were both a stark contrast to each other with their size. While Ali was small and haggard, Aryan was just as big as Dick.

Fuck, he’s yoked as shit, Dick thought as he looked at Aryan’s build. That guy has to be hitting the juice. Damn shame he’s a terrorist, I’d love to learn his routine.

Michael tried to keep himself hidden with his massive rolls of fat. Sweat poured down his face, his gut rumbled, and he could feel the chili pie his wife had made him started to rumble. The gas in his bowels began to surge, begging for a release.

“I thought I heard something here.” Ali said aloud, quickly looking into the front door of the shop.

Oh man, I can barely hold it, Michael thought to himself.

“There is nothing here,” Aryan replied. “We need to meet up with Achmed and the others.”

“Allahu Ackbar.” Ali replied.

“Allahu Ackbar.” Aryan repeated.

Suddenly, Michael’s ass exploded with a horribly loud and juicy ball of flatulence. The sound of gas escaping his butt cheeks caused Ali and Aryan to turn their rifles towards the shop once more.

“What was that?” Ali asked, taking aim towards the counter.

Dick stared over to Michael, enraged to see that he was unable to contain himself. The sweat continued to pour down Michael’s face, soon followed by tears in his eyes. His wife had made a special homemade recipe that she picked up during their trip to Houston. The guajillo and ancho chillis burnt his asshole, the dark and red kidney beans with the dozens of spices caused his bowels to puff. He clenched his teeth, trying in vain to hold in the expulsion.

Once again, his butt ripped another massive fart, this time causing Ali and Aryan to respond. The two pulled the triggers of their rifles, releasing a fully automatic assault of 7.62 into the store. Glass and wood chips blasted through the air as the bullets punched through the front of the store. Fire from the muzzles caused the small store to fill with the scent of gunpowder, barely overpowering Michael’s flatulence. After a few seconds of firing, the two lowered their weapons.

There was silence, then there was retaliation. Dick and Michael both emerged from behind the counter with their pistols drawn. The four began to exchange bullets. The scenery around them had begun to fly apart as the lead scattered through the mall. All the fire ceased, leaving the four standing face to face with empty chambers.

“You get the little one,” Dick said to Michael as he started to eye down Aryan. “I’ll get the big one.”

“I ain’t never been in a fight before man.” Michael replied, filled with panic.

“There’s a first time for everything.”

Dick leapt over the counter, making a dash for Aryan. The two clashed, exchanging punches across the face like their lives depended on it. It did. Michael turned to Ali, feeling himself start to panic. As Ali started to charge, Michael turned and started to make his way to the exit to try and lead him towards the women’s clothing section. He knew he was no match for the terrorist, and he was going to have to rely on strategy to win.

Aryan and Dick were already going to town, constantly striking each other’s faces. The two locked hands, beginning a struggle to keep on top of each other. After a few seconds, Aryan started to get the upper hand, forcing Dick to his knees. Dick clenched his teeth, using his constant explosion muscle training to finally launch himself from the floor. He smashed into Ali’s chest with his shoulder, knocking the man back a few feet.

“You’re fucking stacked,” Dick said as he lifted his fists. Blood streamed down his face, slowly covering his bright red Santa blouse. Thankfully, it was the same color as his blood, so it didn’t really matter. “What’s your diet?”

“I am on a halal routine with grass fed goat and humus.” Aryan replied.

“Gross, you should eat a bacon sandwich, you stupid goat muncher.”

Enraged, Aryan charged forward and started to go back on the assault. He began to tap into his knowledge of the Quran to complete overwhelm Dick with punches and kicks. While Dick started getting his royally handed to him, Michael had found himself moving up and down the women’s clothing section to avoid Ali.

“I can smell your beefy farts, American pig.” Ali called out, continuing to scan the aisles.

He started to make his way past the women’s skirts, slowly taking to moment to look at the size seven silk selection. It made him think of how cute he might look in the mirror if he put it on. While he started to thumb through the clothes, Michael emerged through the clothing, cocking his fist back for a haymaker.

“You look like a size eight, faggot!” Michael exclaimed, feeling empowered by his blatantly homophobic and dated slur.

Ali was taken off guard, taking the punch straight to the face. Although Michael was a fat blob, his punch hit with the force of a train, knocking Ali to the ground. The hit turned Ali’s vision white, then black as Michael’s skin. Michael stood over his opponent, enthralled that he was able to defeat him so quickly. Back in the store, Dick stood face to face with Aryan, bloody and battered from the brawl.

“You’re one tough son of a bitch.” Dick declared, panting for breath as he wiped the blood from his mouth.

“Allah gives me strength beyond strength,” Aryan replied, flexing his muscles. The curves of his biceps and rock-hard abs brought fear to Dick. “You silly Americans will never understand our ways with your shopping malls, pork chop sandwiches, and belief in false gods. Christmas is cancelled, and Santa isn’t real.”

The words caused a fire to ignite in Dick’s heart. He stood tall, raised his fists to his face, and then spat a glob of blood on the floor in front of him.

“Santa’s ain’t real, huh,” Dick said again, squaring up for another attack. “Well, you’re lookin’ right at him.”

The two charged once more. Just like before, Aryan used his powers to duck and weave around Dick’s punches before delivering a spin kick of his own back into Dick’s stomach. The power of the attack sent Dick flying back towards the rack of champagne. He crashed into the display, causing the bottles to come tumbling down on top of him. Aryan started to walk back over towards his AK47 lying on the ground. He emptied then reloaded the weapon before stepping back over to Dick to finish him off.

As Dick lay beaten, he grabbed a hold of one of the bottles of champagne and clenched it tight. The bubbles inside of the bottle started to build up pressure against the cork, causing it to come loose. Aryan stood over Dick, taking notice of the bottle in his hands.

“Drinking on the job too, pitiful. Any last words?” Aryan said before pointing the gun towards him.

“Bottoms up.” Dick replied, pressing his thumb against the cork.

The neck of the bottle exploded into a geyser of foam, propelling the cork through the air and towards Aryan’s head at blazing speeds. Before Aryan could pull the trigger, the wooden cork smashed into his forehead, punching a hole through it. Blood and brains exploded from the back of his skull, causing him to drop instantly.

“Toast,” Dick said after standing up and taking a sip from the bottle. “Damn, that’s good.”