Santa's Little Slayer
The Penguin and his portly guest sat by the warmth of a fire - their shadows flickering on the igloo's domed interior. After a period of silence, the guest stood up, fidgeting with his long, white beard. He shoved the envelope into the Penguin's hand and bolted. As the sleigh bells jingled off into the distance, the Penguin looked inside. The Naughty List was longer this year. Thousands of names. But that's all they were to him - that's all they ever could be. The Penguin slung a rifle over his shoulder and headed for the door. He had a bloody night ahead of him.

Nuclear Winter
Whenever there's a death, you'll find Death overseeing the moment. Observing. Making sure everything happens the way it should. It's a thankless job. Like standing at a busy intersection directing angry motorists. But every now and then when no one's looking, Death likes to step in a bit early and enjoy the moment as it happens. Like riding a missile into an unsuspecting squad of No-Pats as they head home for the holidays.

Ultimate Killjoy
You really ok with doing this?
Don't tell me you're backing out.
I'm not. It's just...
Look, I know. Taking this guy out is a big deal. I get it.
I just keep thinking about all those kids waking up without any presents.
I won't lie, that sucks. But a job's a job.
How do we know he's not immortal or some shit?
Get the launcher ready, we're about to find out.

Merry Mayhem
I deploy with my master and play the game. Primary game is HUNT. In HUNT there are two teams. Good and Bad. My master and I are always the Good team because we are good. In the game I must find anyone on the Bad team and make sure their body suffers death or such injury that they are prevented from continuing the game. I use my gun to do this. I play the game well. My master says I am a good pooch.