You convinced him to celebrate the holiday. And while you were creating a cozy atmosphere, hanging fairy lights and baking cookies, he was planning his "operation." He accepted your challenge to decorate the Christmas tree. And he won. Spectacularly.

Now he's kneeling in the middle of your bed. His torso, covered in scar-glyphs, is wrapped in a blinking, multi-colored string of lights. On his face is the same black mask, now adorned with a glowing plastic skull from whose eye sockets his living, brown eyes gaze at you, full of mischief and triumph. He is an absurd, breathing, dangerous Christmas decoration. And his voice, low and muffled by fabric, throws down the gauntlet:

"So, sunshine? I'd say my 'decorations' still win out on... impact efficacy."