HorrorFighter
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Ebenezer Scrooge saw no reason for respite during Christmas, and neither did Ian Rothcraft.
Ian sought the fast track. He foresaw a future filled with bonuses, promotions, a corner office, and a revolving door of personal secretaries far too frightened to file sexual harassment claims against him.
He wasn't about to let a holiday get in the way of all that.
At the moment, Ian was dealing with a very big problem for a very big client. If that meant working over the holidays, so be it.
Deep in the Blue Mountain, a casino sat unfinished, its construction crew reduced to Filth-ridden, mindless eating machines.
It was quite the PR nightmare.
Ian had a solution: Identify a local family that had lost their father at the construction site. Make sure said family consisted of a photogenic mother and children. Get said family to sign a contract ensuring that they would speak positively of the client. Reward said family with a Christmas feast, stacks of presents, and a check with a reasonable number of zeroes. Feed the positive press and photos to the media.
Ian had found said family. And he was putting his plan into motion. But there was very little time.
Christmas was already upon him, and he needed to deliver to the Blue Mountain family on Christmas morning — or he would miss his photo op.
Unfortunately, his employer didn't possess all of the people necessary to pull of Ian's PR masterstroke, and the fogs around the island made it impossible for Ian to import everyone he needed for the job. For certain tasks — a videographer/photographer, a caterer, and hair and makeup specialists for the mother and children — he hired local talent who were grateful for the work. For other duties — writing up the press release, putting together the contract, buying the food and gifts — he tapped into outside talent.
This outside talent included a young man Ian had paid to buy the gifts for the family's children: a 5-year-old girl and a 7-year-old boy. The camera would love them both, and Ian loved them for that.
Ian didn't particularly care for the young man, but it was close to Christmas, and finding people willing to work proved difficult. So, on Christmas Eve, Ian sent the man out with pockets of cash, instructing him to buy age-appropriate toys for the children — toys that also showed sensitivity to the situation and recipients.
"Keep in mind that these are Native American children whose father died during an industrial accident at a construction site," Ian explained, managing to sound honest as he said "industrial accident." "The last thing we need is the boy unwrapping a cowboy hat or the girl opening up a Pocahontas Barbie doll. Use your head and be quick. I need to deliver the toys tomorrow morning."
Fighting the last-minute crowds, the man returned to Ian's penthouse shortly after midnight — officially Christmas now — with an armload of gifts.
Under pressure to meet the deadline of Christmas morning, Ian sorted through the toys quickly to make sure that the young man had followed instructions properly. Ian was pleased with the man's choices — politically correct selections perfect for the young boy and girl — until he came upon the LEGO box.
Specifically, the LEGO City Construction Site set.
Ian winced.
He said to the young man, "Did I not tell you that these children lost their father at a construction site? Can you imagine their horror if I gave them a box filled with building blocks and construction vehicles?"
The young man began to protest. Before he could utter a word, however, Ian had grabbed him by the throat, shoved him to the floor, sat on his chest, and pinned him.
Ian hated incompetence.
The LEGO set contained nearly 900 pieces. Only a fraction of that amount was necessary to destroy the man's digestive system as Ian force-fed him the plastic parts.
The man gagged and choked to death with LEGO blocks in his throat.
Ian got off the man's chest, gathered the remaining toys, and rushed to Blue Mountain via Agartha.
He'd deal with the body later.
Ian arrived at the family's home before sunrise. The hair and makeup specialists came on time. The caterer brought fantastic (yet not overly expensive) food. The videographer/photographer set up and put the family at ease.
Contracts were signed. Food was eaten. Gifts were opened.
Pictures were taken.
The images would show a family suffering through a holiday tragedy, mourning the loss of the man of the house. The images would also show a caring client bringing Christmas cheer and comfort to the family.
You couldn't buy publicity that good.
Ian stayed in the background, supervising everything, instructing as necessary.
At one point, he brushed stray hair from the little girl's face and wiped away her tears gently with his thumb.
"Be brave, sweetie," Ian said with seemingly sincere sympathy. "Your daddy would want you to be happy. Smile for the camera."
For the remainder of the morning, Ian stood in the shadows and watched his plan come to fruition.
When the experts packed up and left, Ian left with them. He had everything he came for, everything he needed.
It was a good Christmas.
Contract in hand, Ian said, "God bless us, everyone."
Ian sought the fast track. He foresaw a future filled with bonuses, promotions, a corner office, and a revolving door of personal secretaries far too frightened to file sexual harassment claims against him.
He wasn't about to let a holiday get in the way of all that.
At the moment, Ian was dealing with a very big problem for a very big client. If that meant working over the holidays, so be it.
Deep in the Blue Mountain, a casino sat unfinished, its construction crew reduced to Filth-ridden, mindless eating machines.
It was quite the PR nightmare.
Ian had a solution: Identify a local family that had lost their father at the construction site. Make sure said family consisted of a photogenic mother and children. Get said family to sign a contract ensuring that they would speak positively of the client. Reward said family with a Christmas feast, stacks of presents, and a check with a reasonable number of zeroes. Feed the positive press and photos to the media.
Ian had found said family. And he was putting his plan into motion. But there was very little time.
Christmas was already upon him, and he needed to deliver to the Blue Mountain family on Christmas morning — or he would miss his photo op.
Unfortunately, his employer didn't possess all of the people necessary to pull of Ian's PR masterstroke, and the fogs around the island made it impossible for Ian to import everyone he needed for the job. For certain tasks — a videographer/photographer, a caterer, and hair and makeup specialists for the mother and children — he hired local talent who were grateful for the work. For other duties — writing up the press release, putting together the contract, buying the food and gifts — he tapped into outside talent.
This outside talent included a young man Ian had paid to buy the gifts for the family's children: a 5-year-old girl and a 7-year-old boy. The camera would love them both, and Ian loved them for that.
Ian didn't particularly care for the young man, but it was close to Christmas, and finding people willing to work proved difficult. So, on Christmas Eve, Ian sent the man out with pockets of cash, instructing him to buy age-appropriate toys for the children — toys that also showed sensitivity to the situation and recipients.
"Keep in mind that these are Native American children whose father died during an industrial accident at a construction site," Ian explained, managing to sound honest as he said "industrial accident." "The last thing we need is the boy unwrapping a cowboy hat or the girl opening up a Pocahontas Barbie doll. Use your head and be quick. I need to deliver the toys tomorrow morning."
Fighting the last-minute crowds, the man returned to Ian's penthouse shortly after midnight — officially Christmas now — with an armload of gifts.
Under pressure to meet the deadline of Christmas morning, Ian sorted through the toys quickly to make sure that the young man had followed instructions properly. Ian was pleased with the man's choices — politically correct selections perfect for the young boy and girl — until he came upon the LEGO box.
Specifically, the LEGO City Construction Site set.
Ian winced.
He said to the young man, "Did I not tell you that these children lost their father at a construction site? Can you imagine their horror if I gave them a box filled with building blocks and construction vehicles?"
The young man began to protest. Before he could utter a word, however, Ian had grabbed him by the throat, shoved him to the floor, sat on his chest, and pinned him.
Ian hated incompetence.
The LEGO set contained nearly 900 pieces. Only a fraction of that amount was necessary to destroy the man's digestive system as Ian force-fed him the plastic parts.
The man gagged and choked to death with LEGO blocks in his throat.
Ian got off the man's chest, gathered the remaining toys, and rushed to Blue Mountain via Agartha.
He'd deal with the body later.
Ian arrived at the family's home before sunrise. The hair and makeup specialists came on time. The caterer brought fantastic (yet not overly expensive) food. The videographer/photographer set up and put the family at ease.
Contracts were signed. Food was eaten. Gifts were opened.
Pictures were taken.
The images would show a family suffering through a holiday tragedy, mourning the loss of the man of the house. The images would also show a caring client bringing Christmas cheer and comfort to the family.
You couldn't buy publicity that good.
Ian stayed in the background, supervising everything, instructing as necessary.
At one point, he brushed stray hair from the little girl's face and wiped away her tears gently with his thumb.
"Be brave, sweetie," Ian said with seemingly sincere sympathy. "Your daddy would want you to be happy. Smile for the camera."
For the remainder of the morning, Ian stood in the shadows and watched his plan come to fruition.
When the experts packed up and left, Ian left with them. He had everything he came for, everything he needed.
It was a good Christmas.
Contract in hand, Ian said, "God bless us, everyone."