He knew what to expect. Things were to be done that the world had not witnessed for centuries, even millennia - horrific acts that lurked in the collective memory of humankind as the grimmest of dark myths. Vast forces were to be unleashed that would leave a traumatic scar across the Australian psyche that might never fade. There would be no mercy. No salvation. No deliverance. Only relentless retribution.
The Count recognized the signs of strain on Santa's face. "I understand Claus, you're used to giving away rewards, and these new arrangements that make you also responsible for punishments must seem strange." The Count almost felt pity for his new colleague. "And, of course, it was all a lot less complicated when we had Satan to look after all these … unpleasantries, but he's moved on."
"There's been regime change," he continued. "Jehovah's out; Gaia's in, and these people must learn to obey."
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Odious opened the plan to the first page and pushed it towards Santa. There was silence and the chill deepened.
"Yes, you're right, of course," Santa yielded, his shoulders sagging inside his red suit. The Global Financial Crisis was rapidly eroding his superannuation and early retirement was no longer an option. Pulling himself together, he picked up the plan.
Outside, the world was suddenly transformed. The Panopticon hovered no longer over Artic wastes, but over the lands of a sunburnt country, her sweeping plains and ragged mountain ranges stretching to the far horizon. Her great cities hugging her jewel-sea, her people bustling about, oblivious to the final judgments being made about their lives.
Somewhere above them vast engines of destruction rumbled into action. Christmas would be different this year.
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