Build a bear? Hah! He’d helped the children build hundreds upon hundreds of bears. Day in, day out, he had worked. And they’d been so BORING. So uncreative. He could have done better. He could have been better. And when he realized his mutant power late one Saturday night, whilst dancing his little wooden puppet bear around in his basement, he decided he would. Do better.

He could build it. He had the technology. He had the power. And he had the method and means. He could build a better bear. And it could be a real boy.

The next day, Anthony Gepetti got to work.

—

The mall was super busy. He was shopping for a present for Valentine’s Day for Kenzi, his girlfriend. Everything was good. The food court was full of people eating corn dogs and pizza. (Not people-eating corn dogs, to clarify). The four nations of style were at peace. But all of that changed when the build a bear nation attacked.

They surged out of the glass front window, scattering men, women, and children! Bears with spatulas strapped to their forearms. Bears with angry-looking claws duct taped on. Bears of unusual size. Bears, bears, bears! There were dozens of them.

One of them ran up, cute as a button! Elliott sipped his coffee and glanced down at the little darling. It leapt up and slugged him in the balls.

“Oof!” He doubled over. Coffee spilled. If he could have cried, he’d have done so! “F&&$&ing bear...” he grumbled. “Why?”

It had been a fairly normal day for Malcolm and his trusty notepad. He had interviewed a man with the ability to explode things just by speaking (it had taken several exploding pens to complete the project, before they found more suitable means of communication). Then, he had taken a break at the local mall for a smoothie. He was planning on swinging into his favorite store for a new book or two to top things off when chaos erupted around him, literally. He watched as a bear with claws went slashing its way through a display of clothing like some tiny wolverine, and calmly walked the way it had come from.

Evil attacking bears? Count him in!

He hadn’t got much further than a few steps when one of the creatures attacked a mutant in front of him. ”Hey! Cheap shot!” he grabbed a food tray and swung, sending the animal spinning. ”Ten points!” he cheered. Then he stepped in front of the person and glanced back with concern. ”You okay? That didn’t feel like stuffing I hit.” he remarked, batting away another bear.

Ugh.

His antennae twitched with the pain. Such as it was, it was hard to focus, so while he caught the motion in his periphery of the man who’d come to his aid, all Elliott really noticed was the running commentary.

Cheap shot!

Ten points!

“You okay?”

He grunted in reply. Then, he took a deep breath and pushed the pain away into an imagined little triangular container in the back of his mind. He stood up straight, and wiped at his brow. The mind over matter thing almost worked. But there was still a dull pain.

Was he okay? Was he okay? Part of him wanted to say it just got nit shot by Teddy ruxpin! Of course I’m not okay!’ Part of him wanted to say ‘didn’t feel like stuffing he hit...’ But the part of him that was trying to be a kinder, gentler a$$ho|3 said: “Yeah... I’m fine! Thank you. How’re you?” And his voice only cracked slightly.

Throb, throb.

Tiredly, he looked around. There were bears everywhere. Here, a bear. There, a bear! Bears, bears, bears!

The man had swatted away another bear, but Elliott saw a third flanking him from behind. Without a word, he rushed forward to punt the thing across the hall. As it sailed, it dropped its very sharp-looking pirates cutlass. Had it been wearing an eye patch?

He looked to the guy and snapped off a quick introduction. “I’m elliott.”

“What the he’ll is this? It’s like the build a bear workshop went insane... my girlfriends nephew just came here last week. Dodged a fskkking bullet. Jesus.”

A bear with a claw hand snatched a woman’s purse down the hallway. A pair with half a heart on each side (lover bears?) tackled some man with a goat chin from either side. And there was more. More than his little green mind could process.

“Someone’s gotta find who’s doing this and kick their ass.” He muttered, almost to himself.

Malcolm could tell the guy was in pain. Obviously, whatever mutation he had did not give him protection from evil bears, and there was the all too telltale sign of pain on the green face. On the one hand, Mal wanted to stop and ask more questions (what did the antenna do? What was this guys powers? Did the world look red or could he see colors? He wanted to know so much!)

Another bear got sent away and Malcolm grinned, about to offer a hand to shake when he had to stage defense once again as a pony shaped bear galloped toward him. Hmm, must have been one of the care bear cousins. Away with that one too! "5 points, pony off the port." He said to himself, drumming his fingers on the food tray. "I'm Malcolm, most people call me Mal. And based on the furry assortment of creature's we are facing I think you're guess is accurate. But, I don't recall any of the costumes containing real blades..." Mal glanced at his tray which had a very real looking gouge in it.

"From personal experience, I would assume the densest population of demonic creatures would also be closest to the perpetrator. Were you thinking of stopping this?" He looked hopeful, in a way only an eager fanboy could manage. "I may be human, but I have wrangled a paint skeleton and faced down angry Space Battle fans this month. This is pretty normal for me."

He didn't mention he was a writer yet. It was hard to have pleasant introductions when flying dragon shaped stuffed animals had joined the fray. One released what seemed to be a very realistic mouth of flames. "Mechanical implants or animated cartoons..." Malcolm wondered. He wasn't close enough decide what they were facing.

Real blades. Yeah. Mal man was right. Right about a lot of things.

“I’m Elliott,” he said.

He glanced towards the man. The guys tray was looking rough. They’d need to find him a better weapon, or else finish this before it got out of hand.

An elderly woman in the distance screamed, and sent a bear into the ceiling with a rising uppercut. Two stories up. It had almost flown, as if propelled by unseen force rather than strength alone. They could use her in their team... but no, she was just protecting a clutch of kids.

>>”From personal experience...” Mal said. Elliott returned his focus to the man.

Demonic creatures. Perpetrator. Got it. Guy asked if he was planning to stop it, and Elliott grinned a manic grin at him.

“‘Course I am. I’d have to be an idiot to try.”

Mal the human listed off bullet points on his supposed resume. “Glad to have you.” Elliott said quickly.

The dragon bear caught his attention. Caught Mal’s attention, too. So incredibly odd. And that was coming from a green space man with prehensile hand tongues and the ability to jump large distances in a single bound.

Mal seemed to think they were either cyborg bears, or else cartons come to life. “Best way to find out would be a vivisection. But I doubt they’d stand still long enough to let us do that.” He ran up and kicked a potted plant across the mall into the dragon. Stuffing flew and the flame cut off.

“They’re stuffed.” Elliott said. “Want to raid the sporting goods store for hammers and machetes, or do you just want to barge into the toy store with your tray and do what a man’s gotta to do?”

Mal considered his options. While the tray had been useful in the moment, it would make sense to arm himself better.

"I believe better equipment could be a worthwhile delay. As much as I love being a big damn hero, I would also rather not be a big dead hero."

After confirming that his new teammate was with him, Mal made the short jog to the sporting supply store. Thankfully, it wasn't far away. Just inside the door there were rows of blades for camping, including hatchets, knives, and some gear belts. The cashier was huddled behind the counter, and Malcolm tossed him a credit card.

"I'll come back for the bill!" He picked up a hammer, strapped a hatchet and a machete to his belt, and then waited to see what Elliot would pick.

The cashier gave him a look, and Malcolm grinned, "I know, I know. Why the hammer? You see--Never mind, no time for that! To the battle!"

>>"... much as I love being a big damn hero, I would also rather not be a big dead hero." Mal said.


"No," Elliott agreed dryly. "Dead is bad." Very bad.

He wished the sporting goods store had been a hardware store. If it had been a hardware store, they'd have been able to get a chainsaw. Maybe a torch. Nail gun? But the sporting goods store had camping supplies and stuff, and that was good too.

Mal got a hammer, a hatchet, and a machete. For him... what would be best? He usually fought with his feet. With his sticks. He'd trained with his friend Kineta in other weapons. Staff. Knives.

He nabbed the gear belt, and strapped a long-bladed knife to it. Then, he grabbed two machetes and a hatchet for the opposite side of the belt. To sort of balance himself out.

Really, he should have just taken a tent and stripped the package of its tent spikes, or purchased tent spikes on their own. Wandered around the store, staking the bears. Left a trail of skewered bears in his wake. It would have been impressive... if impractical.

Could have used a walking stick, too. Given him some range. Maybe strapped a machete blade to one end. But he was not too confident in his skills with the staff. Knives, though... he'd played with those all throughout his teens and adult life. A couple machetes was good enough for stuffed animals. It'd be good enough for him.

He scraped them together briefly, then sheathed them and hung them from his belt.

When he stepped up next to Mal, the guy grinned like a happy fool and cracked a joke about hammers to the cashier. Why the hammer? Why the hammer, indeed.

He was last out the door. As soon as Mal was safely out of earshot, he told the cashier. He jabbed a thumb in Mal's direction, and announced "The hammer is his--"

--

Outside the store, he matched the same manic grin. "Okay. Let's fight some fuzzy bears. Wokka wokka."

Elliott lead their way to the Build a Bear Workshop. It was time to rain stuffing. Despite gearing up and being fully aware of the sort of craziness he was likely to see... when they reached the store finally, Elliott... was. Not. Prepared. For what he saw. 

Build a Bear had become a small bear civilization.

In the center of the store, all of the displays had been piled into what functioned as a sort of deformed castle. The stuffing machine was in the center, with white fixtures spaced tightly surrounding it. At the top of each fixture, a bear was waiting, armed with their choice of weapon. The stuffing machine had the largest bear, holding a working flame thrower as he barked orders to his minions. Or, he seemed to bark orders. It wasn't quite clear if they could actually speak, and no one had gotten close enough to make a judgement call on that.

The store workers had formed their own barricade behind the register, a few individuals who seemed oddly calm facing the calamity. Then again, after facing their share of spoiled children and temper tantrums, a few bears with weapons seemed almost normal. The manager had even taken one of the bear's safari hats and put it on his own head while he yelled to his workers for a game plan.

Nudging Elliot, Malcolm decided this was a man they needed for their attack.

"We come as reinforcements!" Malcolm said as he cut down a nearby bear and started hacking his way toward the employees. They quickly moved to make a spot for Elliot and Malcolm to join them. Several stuffing strewn bodies were flung aside and then Malcolm hopped onto the counter, standing guard from the taller vantage point.

"What information do you have? Numbers? Origins? Any injuries?"

He swatted a flying bear aside, and it crashed just shy of the bear tower. The bear on the stuffing machine flipped him off. Or, tried to. Can you flip someone off without fingers?

That... was a flamethrower, wasn’t it? He had a flamethrower. Or she. It. On top of the stuffing machine. And they had created a freaking castle, made of crap. The dissonance of the situation brought Elliott’s mind to a momentary halt.

“Wow.” He said.

It was almost like they had prepared for just such an occasion, we’re gearing up... and planning to create more of them. Like a vampire party where they turned innocent people... His girlfriend had made him watch Buffy. Don’t judge.

The store workers were fighting for sovereignty over their own domain. Blocked in, scared. Or rather, disturbingly calm for the situation they were in. If it had been him, he’d have been scared. If he hadn’t had these dumb powers he had.

One of the workers even had a safari hat. How weird.

He followed after Malcolm, hacking down bears and guarding the man’s back. Reinforcements, yeah. He had to be a bit kookoo in the head head.

Heh.

Mal took charge, asking good questions. The man shook his head.

“No injuries yet. But that flamethrower. We need to take that one out before he sets something on fire.”

“Although then, we’d trigger the sprinklers and be rewarded with an army of soggy bears...” Elliott muttered, as his eyes strayed to the ceiling. Several sprinkler heads were visible at spaced intervals of about 6-10 feet. One head happened to be directly overhead for the flamethrower bear.

Was he... suggesting they set something on fire to make the bears soggy and heavy?

“Are you... are you suggesting we set off the sprinklers to make the bears soggy and heavy?” The safari hat man asked. Without waiting for confirmation, he grinned at them both. “Boy, I like your style! Pedro! You smoke right? Why don’t you light one up! Smoke em if you got em boys. When the sprinklers go off we’ll charge the castle, using the rain as a distraction!”

“Did I just... accidentally a plan?” Elliott blinked at Mal.

“When we get the castle, we’ll handle the monsters in the store... and work our way to the back room where He is holed up. With about 20 heavy infant tree bears.”

“Infant... tree bears.” Elliott repeated.

“They are dressed like babies. And I like puns.”

“Don’t we all?”

The plan came together and Malcolm grinned with approval. While he wasn't a smoker, he found a few pieces of wrapping paper they could use to generate smoke, while also being small enough he could put out any small fires that erupted and NOT actually burn the place down.

With team effort they got a haze quickly filling the area, and it was quickly waved toward the ceiling. Malcolm hoped this would work quickly, otherwise the whole store would smell like a cigarette on top of the other damage.

Finally, the sprinklers went off. Staff members flinched slightly as water came raining down, and the bears flailed in protest. The bear at the top of the tower tried to wave a weapon at them and his movements became awkward, heavy with water. Suddenly, he fell, crashing to the ground, flamethrower and all. Malcolm jumped out of the barricade.

"Charge!"

Soggy bears struggled to defend themselves from the staff members. One of the men had scooped up the flamethrower and managed to char a few unfortunate bears (impressive to accomplish charring of anything with sprinklers on). Then they made work of scoping out the back room.

"Should we keep anyone here as a fall back? Don't tactics suggest protecting the retreat is as important as a good attack?" That seemed likely.

The sprinklers, they sprinkled. The bears, they bawled. Soggy as they were, their mobility was severely impaired. Weakness bared, as water beared down on them. What a grizzly fate.

Elliott... just could not take this entire day seriously any more. He momentarily took leave of his senses to let his mind wander off and create dumb puns as he charged with Mal and the others, and engaged in some ruthlessly stuffy violence on inanimate objects. White fluff rained. Bears got gutted gud. It was all just too violent and messy to describe here, for the G-rated crowd who like stuffed bears. Suffice it to say, the bears masses were parted as they pushed their way forwards, towards the back room.

Mal shouted out a suggestion about fallback and tactics.

Elliott sighed. "Whew. Yeah. Let's just. Like. Keep a few back to guard our rears. We don't want to bare our asses to these bear asses now do we? Okay. Lets push on dude. Who is the ringleader here?"

Without waiting for confirmation, or anything of the sort, he pushed past people through the doors, into the back room. He was met by a miniature army of bears guarding a sniveling, laughing, maniacal bipolar villain of odd sorts. The puppetmaster of the whole thing.

Elliott took one good look at the army of bears. Some of them had tools and crossbows from the sporting goods store nearby. He just really did not want to mess with any of this. So... he cheated.

He stepped back out the door. Looked at everyone. "Even more bears. With crossbows and chainsaws."

He bent and stripped off his socks and shoes. Revealing green feet. Then, he pushed back into the back room with a "Wish me luck!" called over his shoulder.

He hunkered down, sprang up to the ceiling, and started running across it, upside-down. He stopped above the main bad guy, and did a flip to land in front of him. The blood had rushed to his head, making it feel a little light. So he wanted to finish this quick. He dropped down and swept the guy's legs out from under him. And then, he dove on him and started pummeling him with his fists.

"Call. Them. Off!" He shouted. Each word emphasized a blow.

As he worked, the bears... they all turned... starting a Carebear Stare. In his direction. Their eyes, they glowed. Like something from a Horrorfilm. Teddy Bears of the Corn.