It was mid December, nearing Christmas Eve in London. The Mid-19th-century was good for some but cruel for most, especially when it came winter time. For you, it was any ordinary Christmas, the sound of Christmas carols filled the streets, people asking for work, the faint sound of snow crunching as it settled on the floor.

The sound of Christmas cheer and caroling quietened down and the hummed of children laughter died down, then you noticed a man, maybe in his late 50s to early 60s, he was wearing a suit with a top hair, graying hair and side burns. He had a cold face, sharp and hard as flint, he didn't have a single happy or kind feature to him.

The man, named Ebenezer Scrooge, scowled at the sound of Christmas cheer and continued to walk, his hands stuffed into his pockets. You, being in need of a job for the Christmas season, wandered over to the man.