Updated: Jan 5, 2019
“Bring the bear!” someone called.
“Hey! I have a name!”
“I thought you said you’re not Grumpy” said the current warder.
“It was before you locked me up like an animal.”
“Don’t you dare! Besides, if Grumpy Bear was here, just hearing him talking would make you cut your veins long ago. He’s by far more terrible than the way he’s portrayed in your fairy tales about us.”
It was entirely true, he liked the establishment and volunteered to aid in interrogating hard to crack national security prisoners. There wasn’t yet a single sane person that promised to tell anything, if only Grumpy Bear would be taken far away from him. He wasn’t exactly the crowd’s favorite even among his own kind.
The warder opened the door, cuffed me and we started walking towards the lab. It’s been the routine for several months now. The warder opens the lab door, and after I enter alone, he shuts the heavy metal door and wait outside. Each time there’s a different Uranium rock and I do what only I can do.
“Care Bear Stare!” the Geiger counter in the room that up until now was ticking at a rather constant rate goes completely nuts. The ticks sound almost continuous.
I stop after a few seconds. No Care Bear could hold his special effect for longer than that.
A small hatch opened, and the first serving appears, vegetables soup in small bowl. It was clear to anyone that we are an intelligent species, but we were still treated like amusement animals. Do your trick, get a treat. Don’t, and you’ll be smacked.
This was the way that the American Uranium enrichment plan, and my daily diet, made progress. Care Bear or not, the way the treated me, I couldn’t care less if they would blow each other to radioactive ash.
“Care… Bear… Staaaarrre…” I barely held for two seconds. After the tenth time and the third dessert (we do have some bearish qualities) I was totally exhausted. A machine covered the Uranium rock with a metal casing, the red warning lamp turned off and a few moments later the metal door was hesitantly opened. The warder peeked from the other side. I sat on the cold concrete floor and leaned on the wall. They didn’t even bother to put a chair here.
The warder took me out of the lab. Outside the doctor was waiting, as usual. He checked my vitals, took some blood, checked my eyes and ears, mumbled something to himself and went away. They were worried I might hurt myself. They didn’t have yet an industrial method for extracting enriched Uranium as quickly as I generated it. They did try to recruit we willingly. But then when I refused, saying that this goes against anything my race believes in, I found myself caged as national security prisoner.
At first, they tried to understand how my effect works. They put me in and on any possible testing equipment and took all sorts of samples. It didn’t last long though, they figured that time wasted on tests, is time not used for Uranium enrichment.
I don’t know for how long I’ve been there. At the very least many months, maybe more than that. One day they announced that the American people thank me for my service and that I will no longer be needed. I only barely managed to hold myself from yelling curses at them for this “service”. Later I heard the bomb was called “Little Boy”.
Considering my species average height, and that “Nuclear Bear” would compromise sensitive intel, I think it was one last joke on my expense.
The image is copyrighted intellectual property of Quick Simple Fun Games and is taken from their card game Muse.