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Location:Magic Kingdom – Main Entrance Plaza
Time: 9:55 AM, Saturday, December 20, 2025
The Saturday before Christmas in 2025 arrived with a humidity that felt like a wet wool blanket and a crowd density that made the turnstiles look like the gates of a medieval siege. Ten thousand people stood shoulder-to-shoulder in the plaza, a kaleidoscopic sea of holiday spirit, corporate branding, and simmering multiversal tension.
Near the Magic Kingdom Train Station, Edward Nygma—The Riddler—adjusted his green suit, looking remarkably cool despite the 80-degree morning. He was staring at a cryptic digital sequence on a tablet he’d liberated from a Vought technician. "Oh, Simon. 'The track is the key to the lock in the sky?' It’s almost insulting," Nygma whispered. He looked over at John McClane, who was wiped out and drenched in sweat three lines over. Nygma couldn't resist. "Hey, Detective! The answer is the Monorail Beam! It’s the only track that touches the sky! You’re welcome!" Nygma shouted, just to watch the vein in McClane’s forehead throb.
"I could have solved it..." John said, annoyed.
In the "Standby" lane, the Mike Tyson Team was causing a minor stir. Mike was shadow-boxing with a manic grin. "I’m gonna get on that big boat and see the Indominus Rex, guys! I can’t wait for Jurassic World: The Ride!"
Pigeon, perched on a nearby trash can while aggressively pecking at a Mickey Mouse shirt, let out a squawk of disgust. "Mike, you moron. Jurassic World is at Universal. We’re at the Mouse House. There are no dinosaurs here unless they’re made of plastic and singing about the fossil fuel industry."
"Then why are we here, Pigeon?" Mike asked, genuinely wounded. "Where are the lizards?"
There are no lizards, Mike... as yet again this is Disney World, not Universal studios." Marcus said.
Further back, Sam and Dean Winchester were ignoring the magic entirely. They were huddled over a map of the Haunted Mansion, their faces grim. "I’m telling you, Sammy," Dean muttered, "those energy signatures aren't 'Imagineering.' That’s Dan Espinoza and Charlotte Richards. They’re trapped in the Doom Buggies. We need to salt the tracks before the first guest hits the graveyard scene."
The air was thick with the scent of popcorn and ego as Tess Harper and Logan O'Connor debated the security grid. "Logan, look at the way the line dividers are shaped. It’s an asymmetrical zigzag. If you map it out, it almost looks like a 'four-across' clue for 'entrapment'." Tess said, excited.
Logan looked at her and sighed. "Tess, it’s not a clue. It’s just how they manage ten thousand people who haven't had their morning coffee. Can we please just be tourists for ten minutes?"
Marvin Flute overheard them and leaned over. "I’ll handle the German, sweetheart. I’ve profiled more terrorists than you’ve had hot dinners."
"STAY BACK, FLUTE!" Stan Smith bellowed, pushing his way through a family from Ohio. "This is a CIA operation! I have jurisdiction over all international riddles!"
From the shade of a nearby umbrella, Emily Lane and Detective Sam Wilner watched the display with his daughter, Violet. Emily took a sip of water and shook her head. "I have low doubts those two could catch a rat in a cheese factory, Sam."
Amidst the screaming, Cassie Nightingale and her daughter Grace moved like a calm breeze through the sweltering heat. They were handing out small cups of lavender-infused herbal tea from a seemingly bottomless thermos. Frankie Heck took a cup, pausing her rant about the price of Disney Genie+, while Bob Belcher accepted a cup with a look of profound, silent gratitude.
Near the bag check, Matt Murdock and Jessica Jones were sharing a rare, genuine laugh. Matt leaned into her, whispering a joke about the "tactical scent" of the nearby hot dog stand, and Jessica actually doubled over, a real smile breaking through her usual hardened exterior.
"You look like an idiot in those Mickey ears, Murdock. Are you sensing the 'magical vibes' or just the high-fructose corn syrup from that churro stand?" Jessica said as she is holding Matt's hand.
"I can hear the internal gears of the castle from half a mile away, Jessica. It’s not magic; it’s a lot of expensive hydraulics. And for the record, the ears are for 'blending in'." Matt said.
"Right. Blending in. Because a blind guy with a stick and a lawyer's suit screams 'Disney enthusiast'." Jessica said. Luke Cage and Danny Rand watched from ten feet away, sharing a knowing nod. It was a good day, for now.
In a quieter corner of the plaza, Frank Castle leaned against a concrete pillar, his eyes scanning for threats. He watched as his daughter, Lisa, began showing her MagicBand+ to a girl named Astor. Frank’s eyes met those of the other girl's stepfather, Dexter Morgan. There was no greeting, no handshake—just a cold, mutual recognition of the "Dark Passengers" residing in both their chests.
The corporate side of the park was in full swing as Firecracker and Starlight laughed together near the VIP entrance. Starlight blew a playful kiss toward Hughie, who was being held back by a scowling Butcher. Nearby, Wanda Maximoff spotted Baron Zemo and offered a formal, Sokovian bow. Zemo acknowledged her with a curt nod before returning to his hobby: whispering Sokovian history facts to Stormfront until she looked ready to explode.
Jack Donaghy stood on a slightly elevated ledge, looking over the 10,000-person crowd with a clipboard. "Lemon, look at the metrics," he said to Liz Lemon, who was currently trying to un-stick a churro from her hair. "The per-capita spend of the 'Weird Costumes' vs. the 'Civilized' is staggering."
High above in the Contemporary Penthouse, the Vees watched the chaos through high-definition drone feeds.
"Look at the Saturday surge," Vox cackled, his screen-face flickering. "It’s a buffet of misery and brand-loyalty. I mean look at the frame rate on that drone feed, Velvette! The chaos in the plaza is trending in three different dimensions. It’s a content goldmine."
"Ugh, the fashion in that ticket line is a literal crime. Why is that 'Dark Lord' wearing a cloak in ninety-percent humidity? It’s not a look, it’s a heatstroke waiting to happen." Velvette said, bored.
"I don't care about the cloaks, Vox. I want to know who that man with the star-shield is. He has 'brand ambassador' written all over him. Can we buy him? Or at least sue him for looking that good?" Valentino said.
Meanwhile on the monorails, a voice boomed over the speakers suddenly: "The Express Monorail is currently experiencing a technical delay."
"NO!" Ross Geller shrieked, his voice reaching a pitch that startled a nearby horse. "The Monorail is down?! My Dinosaur Tour is at ten-thirty! I’m going to miss the Carnotaurus!" He began to pace in a frantic circle as Chandler and Joey tried to tackle him before he could charge the security gate.
Just as the chaos reached a crescendo, the Magic Kingdom entry crew made a sharp announcement over the megaphones: "Attention all Guests! If you do not have an active MagicBand+ or digital ticket linked to your My Disney Experience app, you must proceed immediately to the Ticket Counter to purchase valid admission."
A massive, collective groan rippled through the plaza, loud enough to drown out the festive holiday music. Even Gilgamesh, the King of Heroes, froze. He looked toward the ticket window, where the line already stretched toward the horizon. His black biker jacket flickered as if he were about to summon a weapon of mass destruction.
"You expect ME to wait in a queue for a paper slip like a common mongrel?" Gilgamesh boomed, his eyes glowing.
Beside him, Lord Voldemort was clutching his wand tightly, his nostrils flaring. He looked at the giant, smiling Mickey Mouse head on the floral garden and then at the brightly-smiling security guard who was gesturing toward the back of the line. The Dark Lord let out a long, frustrated hiss.
"The magic here is ancient," Voldemort whispered, his voice trembling with a rare sensation—fear. "Lucius... get in line. I do not wish to be banished by the Mouse. He sees... everything."
Both the King and the Dark Lord reluctantly turned and marched toward the ticket counter, their clothing snapping in the humid air as they joined the commoners in the longest wait of their lives.
Location: Magic Kingdom – Shadow of the Cinderella Castle (Near the Hub)
Time: 10:30 AM, Saturday, December 20, 2025
The Saturday crowds had fully surged onto Main Street, creating a human tide that had effectively separated Vee Hauntley (Kenzi Richardson) from the rest of her Wilson Hall crew. She stood near a shadowed alcove behind the Cinderella Castle, her pale white skin glowing slightly as she checked her phone with a frown.
"Sophie? Elijah? Can you guys hear me?" she whispered into her phone, but the 2025 Saturday network congestion was making communication impossible. "Ugh, the humidity is definitely messing with the signal."
The air suddenly turned unnaturally cold, and a single, bright red balloon drifted from behind a nearby topiary. A high-pitched, distorted giggle echoed off the castle walls. From the shadows of a large drainage grate, Pennywise the Dancing Clown slowly emerged. His face was a mask of cracked white paint and unhinged, predatory glee as he stared at the young girl with the "Goth-style" outfit.
"Hello, little girl..." Pennywise hissed, his jaw unhinging to reveal rows of yellow, needle-like teeth. "You look lost. So far from home. Don't you want a balloon? We all float down here... and you'll float, too!"
He lunged forward, his body glitching and twisting into a massive, spider-like silhouette intended to harvest the pure, raw terror of a thirteen-year-old.
Vee didn't scream. She didn't even flinch. Instead, her grey-green eyes flashed a brilliant, glowing purple. She leaned forward, and with a soft click, her elongated vampire fangs retracted from her gums, gleaming in the Florida sun.
"You're supposed to be scary, right?" Vee asked, her voice calm and unimpressed. She adjusted her headband with a sigh. "Look, Mr. Clown, I’ve lived in Transylvania my entire life. I’ve seen my great-uncle turn into a swarm of actual bats during a family dinner, and I’ve had tea with ghosts older than your entire town. You’re just a guy in a dirty suit with some cheap special effects."
Pennywise froze mid-snarl. His eyes, usually glowing with the "Deadlights," flickered with confusion. He leaned in, sniffing the air, but instead of the sweet scent of fear, he only smelled an ancient, powerful magic that felt far too "un-mortal" to feast upon.
"You... you're not afraid?" the clown rasped, his voice cracking.
"I'm more afraid of missing my lunch reservation at the Be Our Guest Restaurant," Vee replied, retracting her fangs and flashing him a polite, "Wilson Hall" smile. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to find my friends. Maybe try the Haunted Mansion? I hear they're looking for new talent."
Pennywise stood motionless as the teenage vampire adjusted her boots and walked back into the sunlight of the Hub. The cosmic horror let out a low, defeated honk of his red nose and slithered back into the sewer grate, realizing that in a park full of superheroes and actual vampires, he was just another "cliché trope."
Location: Magic Kingdom – Fantasyland, outside "it's a small world"
Time: 10:30 AM, Saturday, December 20, 2025
The sun was climbing high over the multicolored spires of Fantasyland, casting sharp shadows against the clock tower of the "Happiest Cruise That Ever Sailed." The air was thick with the scent of frozen lemonade and the relentless, tinkling mechanical melody of the ride’s theme. It was "Peak Magic" hour, and the Saturday crowd was swelling into a dense, unmoving sea of humanity.
Stewie and Brian sat on a nearby stone wall, having just navigated a particularly grueling stroller bottleneck. Stewie adjusted his miniature sunglasses, looking profoundly unimpressed with the festive holiday banners draped across the attraction's façade.
"I have to say, Brian, it’s much nicer being here as a guest than as a forced performer for 'It’s a Tiny World,'" Stewie remarked, watching a boat of tourists disappear into the ride's tunnel. "The last time I was here with Big Fat, I was abducted by security and forced to sing in a cavernous room full of animatronic children from 'many ethnicities' just to avoid being cast in a Christmas movie with Tim Allen. It was harrowing, Brian. The choreography was abysmal."
"I just can't get over the fact that we're in a PG fanfic," Brian groaned, pushing away a half-melted Mickey ice cream bar. "Where’s the grit? Where’s the edge? I should be at the AbracadaBar having a martini and discussing the decline of Western literature with a cynical bartender. Instead, I’m being called 'cool' by a guy who looks like a human thumb."
"Hey! Don't be like that, man!" Jeff Fischer chirped, leaning over from the next table with a glazed, peaceful look in his eyes. "A talking dog? That is far out, brother. You're like a four-legged philosopher. Total vibe."
Beside him, Klaus the Goldfish bobbed in a portable travel bowl, looking profoundly bored. "Ignore him, Brian. He’s been like this since he inhaled the 'snoap' on Main Street. I’m just here to make sure he doesn't wander into the Seven Seas Lagoon and try to 'be one' with the alligators."
The peaceful—if bizarre—moment was shattered as a tall, slender man in a perfectly tailored Italian suit strode through the crowd. He wore a Bluetooth headset and carried a gold-plated clipboard. It was Roger the Alien, currently inhabiting the persona of Maximillian Powerhouse, a motivational speaker for people who are already too successful to care.
"PEOPLE! REALIZE YOUR POTENTIAL!" he barked at a group of confused tourists.
"Mr. Powerhouse!" Jack Donaghy called out, stepping through the crowd with an expression of genuine respect. "I’ve been following your 'Vertical Integration of the Soul' seminars. I was hoping we could discuss the synergy between NBC and the Disney soul-trapping initiative Kenneth was screaming about."
"Jack! My favorite shark!" Maximillian/Roger chirped, adjusting his silk tie. "I was just telling Tony Stark in the elevator that success isn't about the money—it's about the amount of space your ego takes up in the room! Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to go tell a small child that their 'magical wish' is a terrible investment strategy."
As the corporate duo strode off toward the Be Our Guest Restaurant, a sudden hush fell over the immediate area. A cold, unnatural breeze swept through the humid plaza.
It was Pennywise who was behind Stewie. "Hello little boy..." he hissed, his jaw unhinging to reveal needle-teeth. "Don't you want a balloon? We all float down here... and you'll float, too!"
Stewie took out a gun and told Pennywise, "Do you really want to make this a R-Rated story, bro... huh?" Pennywise froze mid-snarl as he realized that Stewie didn't fear him either.
"Seriously, I knew I shouldn't have left Derry." Pennywise said annoyed as he slithered back into the sewer to wait for the perfect victim who will be scared of him.
"See?" Brian sighed, watching the clown retreat. "This is exactly what I mean. Even the cosmic horrors are declawed in this narrative. I’m out, Stewie."
"Oh, sit down, Brian," Stewie sighed. "The fireworks don't start for another ten hours, and I’ve already booked us a Lightning Lane for the Carousel of Progress. I want to see if the animatronic dad is still having a mid-life crisis."
Location: Magic Kingdom – Tomorrowland, beneath the Tomorrowland Transit Authority PeopleMover
Time: 12:00 PM, Saturday, December 20, 2025
The high-noon sun beat down on the white concrete of Tomorrowland, reflecting off the metallic spinning gears of the Astro Orbiter. The Saturday crowds were a sweltering gridlock of strollers and "TRON" jerseys, but a path was clearing organically as the most terrifying group in the park marched toward the PeopleMover support beams.
John McClane, looking like he had been dragged through a mile of broken glass and Florida humidity, wiped his brow with a grimy hand. "Twelve o'clock. We’re on site, Simon! You happy now?"
John Rambo stood at his side, his eyes scanning the rooftops for snipers with a intensity that made nearby tourists instinctively lower their voices. Behind them, Uncle Bob stood perfectly still, his red-tinted HUD-eye flickering. Bringing up the rear was Jason Voorhees, who was currently carrying a small child’s dropped "Mickey" balloon, looking profoundly out of place next to the neon-blue aesthetic of the future.
"Wait, wait, wait!" a voice shrilled from the crowd. Edward Nygma—The Riddler—pushed his way to the front, straightening his green lapels. "You were going to touch the detonator without me? Honestly, McClane, you’re all brawn and no brain. Simon isn't playing an action movie; he’s playing a game of wits. And I," he tapped his temple, "am the Grandmaster."
"I don't care if you're the Pope, Nygma," McClane growled. "There’s a bomb at Site Eight."
The T-800 stepped forward, his hand scanning a metallic panel at the base of the PeopleMover track. "Scanning... device detected. Liquid-encapsulated housing. Initiating disarming sequence."
"NO!" Nygma shrieked, batting the Terminator’s hand away. "Look at the casing! It’s a puzzle-lock! 'I have no voice, but I scream in the dark; I have no eyes, but I see the spark.' It’s the Space Mountain circuit breaker!"
Nygma deftly punched a code into the keypad. The device let out a soft hiss and popped open—revealing not a bomb, but a small, mocking clown-in-the-box and a digital ticker.
"It's a fake," Rambo muttered, his hand relaxing on his knife hilt. "He's wasting our time."
"He's not wasting time, he's testing speed," the T-800 corrected.
The ticker on the fake bomb began to scroll a new message: SIMON SAYS: THE EIGHTH SITE WAS A GIFT. THE NINTH IS A SACRIFICE. PROCEED TO THE MONSTERS, INC. LAUGH FLOOR. IF YOU CAN’T MAKE THE MONGRELS LAUGH, THE FLOOR WILL BECOME A CEILING.
"Laugh Floor?" McClane looked up at the PeopleMover cars passing overhead. "I'm a guy whose life is a series of tragic accidents, I'm with a robot, a survivalist, a mute slasher, and a guy who dresses like a question mark. Who among us is funny?!"
"I have a vast database of humor," the T-800 offered. "Knock, knock."
"Not now, Bob!" McClane shouted, already running toward the theater. "We've got ten minutes!"
Location: Magic Kingdom – Main Street, U.S.A. (Near the Emporium)
Time: 12:15 PM, Saturday, December 20, 2025
The high-noon sun had turned Main Street into a shimmering gauntlet of heat and holiday spirit. Stan Smith and Marvin Flute were currently engaged in what looked like a tactical staring contest while leaning against a lamp post, their eyes scanning the crowds with mutual, intense suspicion.
"He’s here, Flute. I can smell the bratwurst and arrogance," Stan hissed, adjusting his sunglasses. "Simon is mocking us. He’s hiding in plain sight, probably dressed as a giant, festive hot dog."
"Your investigative instincts are as blunt as your chin, Smith," Marvin Flute retorted, adjusting his trench coat despite the 85-degree weather. "I’ve checked every Disney PhotoPass kiosk between here and Tomorrowland. Simon doesn't hide behind costumes; he hides behind the void of the human soul. Which, incidentally, is also where they keep the $15 sodas."
They were about to erupt into another round of chest-bumping when Flute froze. His eyes widened behind his square glasses as he spotted a familiar, older man wearing an orange prison jumpsuit and a purple scarf, standing calmly by a Mickey Balloon cart.
"Dr. Pentos?" Flute whispered, his voice a mix of shock and old trauma. "What are you doing here? You're supposed to be back in Grimsburg, teaching middle schoolers while wearing an ankle monitor!"
Dr. Rufis Pentos looked up, offering an ambiguous, Eastern European-tinged smile. "Ah, Marvin. My most... persistent student. As for why I am here? It’s quite simple, really. The author of this particular multiversal narrative wanted me in the story, but struggled for three chapters to find a logical way to bring me in. So, here I am! Inserted by executive decree. Do you like my ears? They’re velvet."
"I don't care about the author's narrative struggles!" Flute barked. "We’re looking for a German mastermind named Simon. He’s rigged the park with riddles!"
"Simon, Simon, Simon," Pentos sighed, tapping his chin. "You always were so eager to find the monster under the bed, Marvin. But you forget... sometimes the bed is the monster."
"He’s helping us, isn't he?" Stan Smith grumbled, eyeing Pentos's prison jumpsuit. "Great. Another criminal. Just what this 'CIA operation' needed."
"Help? I prefer to think of it as a lesson," Pentos chirped. He leaned in close to Flute, his eyes twinkling with amusement. "If you wish to find the man who speaks in rhymes, look for the place where the 'Small World' shines. But heed the warning of the frozen track—what goes forward, must never come back."
Pentos winked, grabbed a handful of popcorn from a passing tourist, and vanished into the crowd toward Fantasyland.
"A frozen track?" Stan muttered. "Is he talking about Seven Dwarfs Mine Train? Or the ice cream stand?"
"It’s a riddle, Stan!" Flute yelled, already running toward the castle. "He gave us a riddle! This is my moment!"
Location: Magic Kingdom – Fantasyland, near the Seven Dwarfs Mine Train
Time: 2:30 PM, Saturday, December 20, 2025
The afternoon heat was brutal, and the standby line for the Mine Train had reached a staggering 140 minutes. Dennis Reynolds stood under a shaded awning, looking remarkably sweat-free in his polo shirt, his eyes tracking the crowd with the precision of a predator.
"You're doing it wrong," a sharp, youthful voice said from behind a nearby stroller.
Dennis turned to see Louise Belcher leaning against a themed rock wall, her pink bunny ears slightly tilted. She was holding a Mickey Premium Bar she definitely hadn't paid for. "You’re staring too hard," she continued. "You look like a guy who’s about to ask for someone’s manager. You have to be the shadow, not the spotlight."
Dennis didn't look offended; instead, he offered a thin, approving smile. "A fair critique. But I’m not just watching, little one. I’m systematizing. I’m looking for the fracture points in their collective willpower." He then looked at her. "What is your name little one?"
"Louise Belcher and what is yours?"
He stepped closer, kneeling so he was at eye level with her. "My name is Dennis Reynolds and you have the spark, Louise. I saw it this morning. Most people in this park are sheep, waiting for the 'Mouse' to tell them when to move. But you and I? We are the wolves. And because I find your particular brand of sociopathy... refreshing... I’m going to teach you the art of the perfect 'Disney Scrape'."
"I’m listening," Louise said, her eyes narrowing with interest.
"The key is the illusion of innocence," Dennis whispered, his voice taking on the same hypnotic tone he used when he taught young Abby at the water park. "Look at that family over there—the ones with the three strollers and the father who is one 'technical delay' away from a nervous breakdown. He is your target. You don't steal his Lightning Lane pass. You make him give it to you. You create a scenario where his only path to emotional survival involves doing exactly what you want."
"Like a hostage situation, but with more churros," Louise noted, grinning.
"Exactly. It's about 'The Implication'," Dennis purred. "If they think they have a choice, they’ll resist. But if you frame the world so that your whim is the only logical solution... you own them. You don't just win, Louise. You become the weather. You become the inevitable."
Louise looked at the stressed father, then back at Dennis. "I like you. You're like a version of my dad who didn't give up on his dreams of world domination."
"I am a Golden God, Louise," Dennis said, standing up and smoothing his shirt. "And today, the Magic Kingdom is our playground. Now, go find that man. Tell him you lost your 'imaginary sick brother' near the mine shaft. I’ll be right here to provide the 'concerned adult' backup."
"On it," Louise chirped, tucking her bunny ears back and shifting into "innocent child" mode instantly.
Dennis watched her go, a look of genuine pride on his face. "She's going to be a titan," he whispered to himself.
Location: Magic Kingdom – "it's a small world" (The "Good-Bye" Room)
Time: 3:45 PM, Saturday, December 20, 2025
The relentless, tinkling melody of the world’s most famous boat ride came to a grinding, mechanical halt. The boats jammed together in the final room, where hundreds of animatronic dolls in white and gold finery continued to wave and sing "It’s a world of laughter, a world of tears" in a maddening, unsynchronized loop.
"Such misfortune..." Kamijou Touma moaned, his head resting against the side of the boat. "I’m literally trapped in a musical purgatory. My right hand can negate supernatural powers, but apparently, it can't fix 1960s boat hydraulics."
"Negate powers? Is that your Quirk?" Deku asked, his eyes wide as he tried to scribble in a damp notebook while Ochako Uraraka held onto his arm to keep from floating away in the sudden jolt.
"Shut up, Deku!" Bakugo roared from the back of the boat, small explosions sparking from his palms. "I’ll blast us out of this doll-filled nightmare! I can't take the singing anymore!"
"Bakugo, no! You'll hit the 'Snoap' machines!" Peter Parker yelled, currently clinging to the ceiling of the ride tunnel to stay out of the crowded boat. "And besides, my spider-sense is tingle-ing, and it’s not because of the dolls. Something is causing a massive power drain beneath us."
In the boat behind them, the Hogwarts contingent was reaching its breaking point. Pansy Parkinson was shielding her face with a designer silk scarf. "Hermione, do something! This song is a war crime! Use a Finite Incantatem on the speakers!"
"It’s not magic, Pansy, it’s electricity!" Hermione Granger snapped, though she looked equally distressed. Ron Weasley was staring in horror at a doll that looked suspiciously like a younger, smaller version of Percy.
Sabrina Spellman leaned over the edge of the boat, her eyes glowing violet. "Actually, Hermione, it's both. I can feel the ley lines being diverted. Someone—or something—is using the ride's kinetic energy."
Misaka Mikoto crackled with blue sparks, her fingers hovering over the water. "She's right. There’s a high-frequency pulse coming from the Utilidors directly below the 'Small World' flume. Accelerator, you feel that?"
Accelerator sat in the back, looking bored as Last Order poked a nearby animatronic penguin. "Tch. It’s a mess of vectors down there. Some idiot is trying to vibrate the whole foundation of the park," he muttered.
Wanda Maximoff sat silently, her red chaos magic dancing around her fingers. Beside her, "Susan Bones" (actually a transformed Himiko Toga) giggled, a knife hidden in her sleeve. "It’s so cute how they all sing the same thing forever, right, Wanda?"
Near the front of the jam, Lily (from Dash and Lily) was clutching a red notebook, her face pale. "The dare... I was supposed to record the finale... but the dolls... they won't stop waving at me."
"Don't worry, Lily-person!" Stan Flute chirped from the next row. "My friend Mr. Flesh says the dolls are just lonely! He wants to stay here forever!"
"Who is Mr. Flesh?" Lily asked, trembling.
"He's right there!" Stan pointed to empty air. "He's the one telling Aogami and Tsuchimikado that the girl with electricity is going to zap the water if they don't stop staring at her."
"WE DON'T SEE ANYBODY NEAR US!!!!!" Both Aogami and Tsuchimikado said.
"I am definitely going to zap the water!" Misaka yelled as the singing continued.
Location: Magic Kingdom – Hub near the Central Plaza
Time: 4:30 PM, Saturday, December 20, 2025
The late afternoon sun was beginning to dip behind the spires of the castle, casting long, dramatic shadows that perfectly matched Madison Montgomery’s mood. She sat on a green wrought-iron park bench, her designer sunglasses perched on her nose as she checked her reflection in her phone. She was waiting for Zoe Benson, who had disappeared ten minutes ago to find "water that didn't cost seven dollars."
Pete Hornberger shuffled past, his TGS lanyard tangled with a pair of cheap plastic reindeer ears. He looked like a man who had spent the last six hours trying to explain "satire" to a guy in a Goofy suit. He stopped dead when he saw Madison. His eyes went wide as he recognized the face from a dozen tabloid covers and a handful of cult-favorite slashers.
"Wait... Madison Montgomery?" Pete stammered, his voice cracking with a mix of awe and sheer, unfiltered desperation. "The actress? You’re... you’re actually here?"
Madison looked up, her gaze flat and unimpressed. "I’m on vacation. If you’re a fan, buy a ticket to my next movie. If you’re a stalker, I should warn you that I have a very short fuse and a literal world-class security team."
"No, no! I’m Pete! I’m the producer for TGS with Tracy Jordan!" Pete fell to his knees on the pavement, ignoring the stares of a passing family from Iowa. "Madison, please. We are filming a Disney Christmas Special tonight on Main Street and our guest star—a very talented performing seal—just got detained by the Florida Fish and Wildlife Commission! We need a name! We need talent! I am begging you! I will give you my per-diem! I’ll give you Liz Lemon’s office!"
Madison watched him with a look of profound disgust. "This is getting pathetic, even for a producer. Why would I spend my night on a C-list sketch show when I could be drinking champagne at the Grand Floridian?"
She was about to dismiss him entirely when she saw Zoe walking toward them through the crowd, carrying two bottles of Dasani. Madison’s eyes softened just a fraction. She knew Zoe secretly loved TGS—she’d caught her watching clips of "The Rural Juror" and laughing in their dorm room.
"Fine," Madison snapped, standing up and smoothing her skirt. "I’ll do your stupid special. But I’m doing it for my girlfriend, not for you. And if the writing is hacky, I’m lighting the set on fire. Mentally."
"Yes! Yes, thank you!" Pete scrambled to his feet, wiping tears of relief from his eyes. "You’re a lifesaver! A Supreme lifesaver!"
"Get out of here before I change my mind," Madison muttered, watching him scurry away toward the Tomorrowland Terrace.
As Pete ran, his face went pale with a new realization. Jenna. Jenna Maroney was already convinced she was the "Queen of the Christmas Special." If Madison Montgomery—a younger, thinner, more famous blonde—walked onto that set, there wouldn't just be a rivalry; there would be a body count.
"Oh god," Pete gulped, his hands shaking as he reached for his phone to call Liz. "I’m going to die in a Disney park. Jack was right. This is how it ends."
Madison didn't notice his panic. She simply smiled as Zoe reached the bench. "Ready to go, babe? I just booked us a very exclusive late-night activity."
Location: Magic Kingdom – Main Street, U.S.A.
Time: 7:00 PM, Saturday, December 20, 2025
The clock struck seven, and the Mickey’s Very Merry Christmas Party was meant to begin with a fanfare of trumpets and artificial snow. Instead, a heavy, metallic clunk echoed across the entrance. The iron gates didn't just close; they locked with a reinforced magnetic seal.
"Simon says: The party is now a closed set," Simon Gruber’s voice boomed over the park’s high-fidelity speakers, chilling the festive air. "No one enters. No one leaves. Enjoy the cookies, everyone. They might be your last."
In the middle of the Hub, Bruce Wayne stood perfectly still, his eyes narrowing as he scanned the perimeter. Beside him, Marvin Flute was frantically adjusting his tie. "He’s doing it, Bruce! The ultimate locked-room mystery! And I forgot my magnifying glass in the locker!"
"Stay focused, Flute," Bruce rumbled, his hand surreptitiously tapping a hidden comms link on his wrist.
Near the Emporium, Emily Melrose Farnsworth and Jared Farnsworth were clutching their "Very Merry" lanyards in terror. "Jared, the HOA back at Evergreen Lane is going to have a fit! This is a clear violation of guest safety protocols!" Emily hissed. Jared just stared at the locked gates, his face as white as the 'snoap' falling on his head.
Aurora Teagarden Miller stood nearby, her "Real Murders" instincts kicking into overdrive. "This isn't a game, it's a structural entrapment," she whispered, her eyes darting toward Lord Voldemort. The Dark Lord was gripping his wand, his face a mask of fury. "Locked in? By a muggle?" Voldemort hissed. "I should turn this entire plaza into a graveyard!"
[Dexter’s Internal Monologue]: The gates are shut. The air is thick with the scent of five thousand panicked hearts. It’s like a cage match with better lighting. My Dark Passenger is curious—is Simon the predator, or has he just trapped himself in a room with a hundred monsters?
In the background, the ego-war reached its peak. Madison Montgomery and Jenna Maroney were engaged in a full-scale screaming match in front of the Main Street Cinema. "I’m the guest star, you aging regional theater hack!" Madison shrieked, her eyes glowing with a hint of telekinetic rage. Jenna threw her festive cocoa at Madison’s boots. "I am a star! I have a Tony award for 'Most Improved Prop'!"
Watching from a nearby bench, Liz Lemon and Ashley Barrett were clinking together two oversized souvenir cups filled with what appeared to be straight bourbon. "Do you think the insurance covers 'German Terrorist Holiday Lockdown'?" Liz asked, sounding remarkably calm. Ashley just let out a hollow laugh. "Disney doesn't have insurance, Liz. Disney has lawyers who will sue Simon for copyright infringement before the bomb even goes off."
While Klaus and Hayley Mikaelson stood guard over Hope, their eyes glowing with hybrid intensity, Charlie Magne and Vaggie were trying to keep the peace. "It’s okay! It’s just a very intense escape room!" Charlie shouted, though Vaggie already had her spear out. Lucifer Magne and Lucifer Morningstar were standing together, debating the "aesthetic" of the lockdown. "Too industrial," Morningstar noted. "I prefer a more... brimstone finish."
Billy Butcher looked at the magnetic seals and spat on the ground. "Hughie, Frenchie... get the C4. We’re going to infiltrate that castle and show this Simon how we do things in the real world."
High above in the Contemporary Penthouse, the Vees were in hysterics. Vox was recording the feed from ten different drones. "Look at the metrics! Starlight’s fans are panicking! This is the greatest Saturday night in the history of television!"
"Mike," Marcus whispered as they stood near the Main Street Train Station. "We’re trapped." Mike Tyson just looked at the locked gates and shrugged. "Does this mean the churros are free now?"
Location: Magic Kingdom – The Hub (In front of Cinderella Castle)
Time: 11:59 PM, Saturday, December 20, 2025
The festive holiday music suddenly died, replaced by the low, mechanical hum of the castle’s projection system. As the clock struck midnight, the glittering Christmas lights vanished, replaced by a massive, high-definition image of Simon Peter Gruber projected across the entire façade of Cinderella Castle.
"Simon says: Look up," the voice boomed, vibrating the very ground beneath the thousands of trapped guests. "You’ve spent the day chasing shadows and solving trifles. But while you were riding tea cups, my teams were busy at the Ticket and Transportation Center."
The projection shifted to show the concrete supports of the Monorail beams rigged with glowing, liquid-explosive canisters.
"I haven’t just rigged the park," Simon’s voice purred. "I’ve rigged the arteries. If you don't solve my 'Grand Riddle' by Sunday morning, the 'Happiest Place on Earth' will become the most 'Aerodynamic Place on Earth.' The beams will collapse, the resorts will fall, and the Mouse’s empire will be nothing but a crater in the Florida swamp."
In the middle of the Hub, Jerry Seinfeld threw his hands up in the air. "Aerodynamic?! What does that even mean? Is the park going to fly? I didn't pay for a flight, I paid for a vacation!"
"It’s the physics, Jerry!" George Costanza wailed, clutching his commemorative popcorn bucket. "The wind resistance! We’re going to be blown away! I’m too portly to be aerodynamic! I have too much surface area!"
Nearby, the Friends group was in various stages of a breakdown. Monica was hyperventilating into a park map. "This is not on the schedule!"
"I’m sure it’s fine," Phoebe said airily. "My grandmother always said the Monorail was a giant metal snake that would one day eat the sun."
"I don't care about the snake!" Ross shrieked. "I missed the dinosaurs, and now I’m going to die in a place where the napkins are shaped like rodents!"
Rachel was frantically checking her phone. "Does the Disney Genie+ cover 'Terrorist Evacuation'?"
Chandler looked at the massive image of Simon. "Could this night be any more of a disaster?"
"I'm hungry," Joey added. "Does Simon have snacks?"
From the shadows of the Cinderella Castle Moat, Pennywise poked his head out, looking thoroughly annoyed. "I’m the one who’s supposed to destroy the town! This German is stealing my bit! It’s unprofessional!"
John McClane simply leaned against a lamp post and let out a long, weary sigh. "Of course," he muttered. "Third time's the charm. Welcome to my life."
Frank Castle stood a few feet away, his face a mask of cold stone. He didn't say a word, but his hand tightened protectively on Lisa’s shoulder, his eyes already scanning the rooftops.
The Joker let out a high-pitched, melodic cackle. "Oh, it’s beautiful! He’s turning the 'Happiest Place' into a giant funeral pyre! Why didn't I think of the Monorail? It’s so... linear!"
Trapped near the Main Street Confectionery, Dr. Doofenshmirtz looked up at the castle through a pair of themed Mickey binoculars, while Perry the Platypus sat on a nearby trash can, his arms crossed in frustration.
"See, Perry the Platypus? This is what happens when you don't let me finish my Wrist-Asset-Collection-inator back at the hotel!" Doofenshmirtz complained, gesturing wildly at the locked gates. "Now we're trapped in here with all these... these tourists! And did you hear him? 'Aerodynamic'! That's my word! I used it yesterday! This Simon guy is a total hack! He doesn't even have a jingle! Where’s the showmanship?! Where’s the unnecessarily long backstory?!" Perry just let out a weary k-k-k-k sound and adjusted his fedora.
Dr. Doom stood atop a Tomorrowland ledge, his cape billowing. "Gruber is a peasant playing with fire. He presumes to threaten Doom’s vacation? He shall find that the 'Grand Riddle' has only one answer: Doom."
Rick Sanchez took a long pull from his flask. "Look at this hack, Morty. He thinks he’s a genius because he used some C4 and a projector. I could turn this whole park into a sentient toaster in six seconds! This is... belch... amateur hour, Morty!"
"Rick, we're gonna die!" Morty screamed.
Dick Dastardly and Muttley were already sneaking toward a Main Street Vehicle, Muttley snickering his iconic wheezing laugh. "If the park is going to be aerodynamic, Muttley, we need a car with wings!"
Finally, Deadpool somersaulted into the center of the shot, wearing a "I Survived the 2025 Monorail Delay" t-shirt. He turned his head and looked directly at you.
"Whoa, big finish, right?" Deadpool chirped, winking through his mask. "The stakes are higher than the price of a lightning lane! We’ve got bombs, we’ve got riddles, and we’ve got enough character crossovers to make a copyright lawyer have a stroke! But hey, it’s Saturday night! Don't go anywhere, folks, because Sunday morning is going to be a real... blast."
Deadpool blew a kiss to the camera as the castle projection faded to black, leaving the 150 characters in a terrifying, moonlit silence.