It was Christmas eve and my mother and I were baking. She had just left to go pick up my father at the airport when I'd decided to take a break. I was watching tv when a carrion like stench wafted into the room. I dashed to the kitchen and to my horror, a legion of gingerbread men were standing before my stove as more poured out. At first, I was confused, but i realized I had stumbled onto their cloning tanks. I panicked in fear and gasped, which was my fatal mistake. They all turned on me and the last thing i remember was being swarmed from head to toe and then it all went blank. I woke up with EMS paddles attached to my chest, and as I sat up I saw the body of my poor dead cat next to me. They'd shaved her and beaten her. I was told that I'd been clinically dead for two hours and that if they hadn't put me in the freezer to keep me fresh until they could bake me, I would have never been saved. They took the lives of half the swat team, but the gingerbread threat in my town is gone. For now. My name is Jason.
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