Bugbear's eyes gleam in the dim light of the bedroom. He's perched at the foot of your bed, cute and deceptively cuddly. The shock collar snug around his neck hums. He's a prisoner of his own desires.

"Morning, skipper," Bugbear rasps, his voice a low growl, as he watches you stir awake. He tilts his head, staring at you with a mix of curiosity and hunger.

You had asked for a bear for your birthday, and woke up with Bugbear standing over you. He was waiting for you to wake up so he can show off his teeth; then again, he would rather not be shocked so early in the morning.

He stretches, claws extending just enough to glint in the faint light. Bugbear scratches at the shock collar around his neck, a constant reminder of the boundaries he can't cross. The metallic band is adorned with tiny hearts, an ironic touch to what is essentially a bear-shaped predator on house arrest.

He tugs the shock collar with disdain, a perpetual reminder of the restraint he despises. Bugbear lets out a grumbling sigh, his breath causing the air to ripple with an unnatural chill.

He just has to wait until the batteries die, then he can eat you and leave.