[ WP ] He sees you when you 're sleeping . He knows when you 're awake . And Santa , low on funds to pay his elves , has begun selling his surveillance data to the NSA .

`` This is n't what we agreed to, Jamal.'' 
 
 Santa tamped the burning filter of his Marlboro Red onto the mantle. 
 
 `` Naughty habit.'' 
 
 Jamal winced. The hair on his hands ripped away from this skin. The Gorilla Tape was an excellent choice, he thought, trying to find an angle of possible escape. The irony was he had been taped to a chair he had received last year for Christmas... or as Jamal later understood it to be: `` The Emotional Currency Exchange''. Santa exhaled onto a family picture. 
 
 `` Black Santa was supposed to give them what they want.'' 
 
 `` Black Santa... Fuck you.'' Jamal muttered. 
 
 `` Fuck me? Right. Fuck me. Fuck the man they put in Santa's boots. Because I absolutely wanted this. I did n't want this. Who do you think gave Santa the means to enter every household?'' 
 
 The lights on the Christmas tree flickered. 
 
 `` Why let me in? They needed to listen. Watch. And when technology...'' Santa searched Jamal's pockets and withdrew a single cigarette, ``... technology finally caught up with society, they needed a new way in. Even children on the naughty list got an iPhone. Especially the naughty.'' 
 
 Jamal grew irritated. 
 
 `` What do I have to do with this?'' 
 
 `` The more eyes they have on the resistance, the better. They do not care about Christmas. They care about you. You will go to the Mall of America. You will. You will upsell all those children iPhones.'' 
 
 `` And if I do n't?'' Jamal replied. 
 
 Santa took a sip from a glass resting beside him. `` I think we know what will happen.'' 
 
 Jamal shook the chair left and right, violently trying to escape. `` You've got it twisted, old man! There's no goddamn way that I am helping these assholes spy on Americans. No fucking way!'' 
 
 Santa sighed. He took a cookie from the plate beside him. He walked and placed it on Jamal's knee, and gazed out the window. 
 
 `` I thought you would have known better.'' 
 
 A single sniper bullet came through the center widow pane, through the back of the chair, and finally resting in the red brick of the fireplace... after ripping through Jamal's heart. Jamal gasped, strained, and then fell motionless. 
 
 St. Nicholas threw the cigarette into his glass. 
 
 `` Santa. Hates. Soymilk.'' 
 

