“Now where the hell am I?” Mr. Santa Claus said, looking about. The Scottish Highlands, by the looks of things. Fabulous. Several yards away, the Roboshark stood on a low rise, looking out across the land. He was making words. Mr. Santa Claus strained to listen.
“From the dawn of time we came. Moving silently, down through the centuries.” The Roboshark was quoting Highlander, for reasons only it knew. Mr. Santa Claus brandished the Fabled Harpoon Of Ahab.
“How cliché can you be?” He shouted, flapping his arms. The Roboshark turned, and grinned as best a tin and plastic sea creature can.
“I’m glad you’re here, lad,” It said. “At first I was going to snack on Dublin for a bit, but when the Octoborg joopileed me here to fight you, I thought, hell, why not make an appetizer of Mankind’s Last Hope?” Its left leg buzzed and shot up into its torso. Roboshark toppled over ungraciously into the heather, crushing some roving Lilliputians. “Bloody hell,” it seethed, “Sorry ‘bout that.” Roboshark said. ”One minute!”
“Err,” Mr. Santa Claus said. He held out the Harpoon Of Ahab, and charged the Roboshark. “I hope you like seafood, cause I’m gonna ram this harpoon up your ass!”
What the hell? He thought. That was the dumbest thing anyone’s ever said in the history of ever. He raised the Fabled Harpoon Of Ahab, and brought it down with all his might on the Roboshark. At that moment he realized the other implications of his failed one-liner. His heart sank.
The harpoon bounced off the Roboshark’s impenetrable tin skin, and sent a jolt through Nick’s arm. He leaped back to gather his strength. Nobody moved.
“Erhm, would you mind exploding now, please? This is s’posed to kill you.” Mr. Santa Claus raised the Fabled Harpoon Of Ahabagain and slammed it on the Roboshark’s nose. And again. And again.
“Ey! Cut it out! That’s really annoying!” The robot snarled, sprouting a leg. “And no, I don’t really feel like exploding just now. I’m feeling rather peckish. I think you’ll do. For now.” The Roboshark tore off Mr. Santa Claus’ arm and devoured it, Fabled Harpoon Of Ahab and all.
“Hey, wait a minute! I can’t die! I’m the goddamn protagonist!” Mr. Santa Claus dropped to his knees, clutching the squirting stump his arm had been friends with. The Roboshark laughed, and tore off his other arm.
“Or are you?” It asked, gulping it down. Fighting off the Blackout Fairies, Mr. Santa Claus pondered this.
“Yes.”
“Oh.” The Roboshark frowned. “Well,” he clucked, “It doesn’t matter. If I don’t kill you, the hemorrhaging will. So I may as well finish the job, so you don’t lie about whining and having tediously long flashbacks of your family and your sandwiches and your first pair of shoes. I can’t abide that sentimental mooshmish.” It bent low. “Buhbye, Nick Santa Claus.” It opened wide.
Suddenly the clouds parted, and the sky burst forth in a chorus of angelic song. The Roboshark looked up. Mr. Santa Claus looked up. Mr. Teddy, who happened to be hopping by, looked up.
A great ghostly hand pointed down at them from the heavens. It wagged a finger, and began to descend. Before anyone could move, a great voice spake like thunder:
“JUMANJI!” Everything fell very still.
There was a great frubbulous noise.
When Mr. Santa Claus awoke, he found himself alone in the centre of a vast crater. What remained of the Roboshark lay squashed into a puddle beside him. His arms were back, and he felt refreshed, clean, new.
“Aw’right, come with me.” Mr. Santa Claus looked up. It was a bobby.
“Pardon?”
“You ‘eard me Mary, on yer feet.” The bobby’s moustache quivered furiously. Captain Leroy McDougal didn’t care for inquisitive riffraff.
“Why, officer?” The bobby said nothing. He leveled his gaze at Mr. Santa Claus. A faint breeze picked up. A sudden chill came over him. Then he looked down. His clothes were gone.
“Let’s go, bub.”
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