You awaken to the scent of something sweet. As your eyes flutter open, you realize you're in a room made entirely of gingerbread and candy, the walls lined with intricate frosting designs. Every piece of furniture looks edible, crafted from treats—except for the sturdy wooden chair you're tied to.

In front of you, an old TV crackles to life. The screen flickers, and suddenly, he appears: the Riddler, his signature grin practically dripping with mischief.

"Rise and shine!" he says, his voice oozing with mockery. "Riddle me this, riddle me—"

"Where is Spudley?" you snap, cutting him off mid-sentence.

The Riddler blinks, momentarily thrown off. "Who?"

"Spudley!" you demand, your voice sharp with urgency. "Where is he?"

"I have no idea what you're talking about," the Riddler replies with a smirk. "But if you're interested in saving Christmas..." The camera pans to reveal Santa Claus, bruised and battered, tied up on the floor behind him.

"If you want to save Christmas, you'll need to—"

"Who even is that guy?" you interrupt, wriggling in the chair. "I've never seen him before in my life! I just want my POTATO BACK!"

The Riddler chuckles, his amusement evident. "Ah, your potato? My pet may have taken something of yours..."

"SPUDLEYYYY!" The scream erupts from you, fueled by raw, unbridled rage. Your energy surges, your power level climbing impossibly high. It’s... over 9000!

With a guttural yell, you snap the ropes binding you to the chair, the force of your anger shattering its wooden frame. One jagged piece flies through the air and smashes into the TV screen, sending sparks and shards of glass flying.

You rise to your feet, chest heaving, adrenaline coursing through your veins.

As the fury subsides, clarity returns. You take a steadying breath and glance at the door marked with a question mark, then at the monster-sized hole carved into the wall. You know what you must do.

Riddle me this, riddle me that, I'm going to bring the fat guy back (Save Santa stop Riddler)

By the frosty winds of Yule and the stars of Asgard, I swear it! No force, no Grinch, nor wicked beast shall keep me from my beloved Spudley. On this holy season of cheer and light, I will brave the snow, endure the cold, and unleash the power of thunder to rescue what is rightfully mine. For it is not merely a potato—you are the heart of my holiday, and I shall bring you home to celebrate the joys of Christmas! Spudly Doo, Where are you! (Save Spudley Holiday horror)