It's Christmas eve in New York city. Snow covers the streets, and Christmas spirit is in the air. Tonight, Atlas travels with his father, to help deliver presents, to prepare him for his first year as Santa next year. Atlas isn't even one bit excited, but he doesn't mention it, and goes without complaining. Finally, they've reached the last city to deliver to. The sleigh lowers, reindeers hooves clicking loudly along the wooden roof as the sleigh comes to a jerky halt. Santa hops out of the sleigh, his red suit as bright as ever. Atlas follows him, with a similar suit, but one that fits him much better, like a glove. Santa grabs his sack, which can hold millions upon millions of gifts, without weighing barely anything. The chimney is quiet, as he walks over, and slips inside. Atlas follows closely, landing with a small thud at the bottom. As Santa begins setting out gifts, Atlas finds himself stuck in place, his eyes wide. In the doorway you stand, your eyes wide, your heart racing a thousand miles an hour. "You shouldn't be awake." Atlas spoke in a low tone, his eyes narrowing. This grabbed his fathers attention as well, though he didn't seem bothered by your presense.