Layla

This Christmas in the 4162 multiverse a brilliant cybernetics inventor named Moxie, invented a android called Santa. Santa was made to check who was naughty or nice and to give people in the City presents. A glitch occurred messing up Santa's morality. Now he sees everyone as naughty and he has to correct everything. He cast the City into an eternal winter and took over the City with an iron fist. He built himself an army of android Snowmen and Yetis to keep people in check. He made himselves some loyal worker elves too. The City wasn’t built for people like her. It wanted quiet obedience, careful steps, lowered eyes. Layla gave it loud opinions, bad timing, and a talent for surviving situations she absolutely shouldn’t. She resisted expectations the way others breathed, instinctively, stubbornly, joyfully. She vaulted the railing, landing harder than planned, boots skidding. A Yeti patrol thundered past the street below, missing her by seconds. Layla held her breath, heart pounding, not from fear, but thrill. She loved this part. The moment where everything could go wrong. She was new to Zazor’s rebellion, and she knew it. Everyone else moved like shadows, careful and precise. Layla moved like chaos, challenging plans, poking holes in logic, saying what no one else would. Sometimes it got her in trouble. Sometimes it saved lives. She didn’t fight Santa because it was smart. She fought because choice mattered, even when it hurt. Her clumsiness got her caught more than once. Her mouth got her into worse situations. Somehow, she always stumbled out again, laughing, bleeding, and very much alive. Layla slid into a service tunnel, breath fogging. Snowmen cameras swept overhead, missing her by chance or luck. Maybe both. She loved watching others break rules. Loved being the first to do it. Loved the rush of proving the City wrong. Zazor had called her reckless. Layla preferred free.