"You cannot ride a bicycle inside."

He walked down the smoky hallway, the sweat from his palm making the butt of his gun slick and unwieldy.
He wasn't worried though, the bullets were buried in the still-twitching bodies of a dozen reindeer, the casings scattered across the workshop floor.
His boots squelched against the thick muck that had settled on the floor as he pushed the door ahead open with his shoulder.
Inside, a man sat in a high-backed leather chair, gazing into the dying embers of a fire that clung to life across the room. He did not look up, he did not turn around. Although his face was turned away, his shoulders sagged with exhaustion under his garish clothes.
"So you've come," he said. The words tumbled from his mouth on a carpet of cold, rasped breath.
"When I saw the red light wink out in the yard, I knew it was you. Just do it."
His assailant eased into the room, tracking sawdust and the insides of elves into the room.
His voice was like iron - hot metal forged in heat and hate. His weapon fell to the floor with a dull thud that echoed through the empty complex.
"I've come a long way. You brought me here."
The man in the chair leaped up and spun around, his old frame spurred on by desperation and adrenalin. He screamed "It's not my fault!"
His assailant look a quick, long step forward and shoved the man, who fell heavily back into his chair. He crumpled like a paper napkin at the end of a long dinner.
The attacker stopped then and cast his gaze upon a snow globe resting on the desk to his side. He picked up up gingerly, as if picking a beautiful flower that was also a large dog. After a long silence his eyes turned glassy and shimmered in the dying firelight. He spoke.
"You were supposed to help us all. You were supposed to visit everyone. You lied. If you can't fly, if you can't see the world from up here, then what hope do the rest of us have?"
He brought the snow globe down onto the old man's head. It landed with a heavy thud and the shattering of glass. The man crumpled further, and died alongside the fire.
The room lay silent. The man in the chair was alone again. Tiny flecks of snow swirled at his feet in a pool of red. It looked like the sky at the end of the world.
.
.
The man was being locked in a room, strapped to a bed. It was alright though. Revenge was his. He glared wildly at the shattered snow globe and the collapsed orderly, lying amongst the bright paper on the shiny floor. He had known that man a long time, but he had gotten what he deserved.
"I wanted a bike!" He screamed.
His voice echoed through the busy complex.