Pat Bear gets easily overstimulated and owns Harmonicas, and he tends to play it to calm his nerves, helps him think, and they're all gimmicked:
- Tracking device
- Knock out gas
- Taser
- A Sticky plastic Explosive
- EMP and Radio Jammer
He's can build giant mechs, vehicles, and various means to combat Stuart Moose and his friends based on gimmick and elements when in battle.
Pat Patterson Bear grew up in the long shadow of a father he barely remembered, an explorer, a musician, a visionary scientist whose brilliance was so far ahead of its time that the world simply shrugged. Pat inherited that same spark, that strange combination of genius and sensitivity, but he was raised by the very people least capable of nurturing either: a neglectful, emotionally abrasive mother who weaponized disappointment, and an older sister, Patricia, whose cruelty wasn’t loud but surgical. In that house, affection was a myth, praise a ghost story, and Pat learned early that the only safe place was in his own head.
When he discovered his father’s journals, inventions, and half-finished blueprints, the boy finally found a north star as proof that his bloodline wasn’t a joke but a legacy. Yet at school and at home, the narrative remained the same: “Your dad ran out for milk and never came back.” No matter what evidence Pat found, the world insisted on belittling his father and, by proxy, him. With every sneer, every dismissal, every “just like your crazy dad,” Pat’s ego, wounded, defensive, hungry, grew around him like armor. By his teen years, the dwarf bear-turned-prodigy (all 3'8 ft of him) poured his entire being into science, desperately trying to complete the impossible invention his father never got to finish.
Months of sleepless nights and obsessive tinkering led him to the perfect reveal: the Crank Central City Fair. Stuart J. Moose, the newly christened hometown hero, was the master of ceremonies, the mayor applauding proudly beside him. Pat believed this was it, the moment the world finally saw him, respected him, applauded him. Instead, his masterpiece malfunctioned spectacularly. Chaos erupted. Stuart swooped in and shattered the invention to protect the crowd, unknowingly crushing months of Pat’s identity in the process. And before Pat could even breathe, the townspeople, who had always assumed he’d go bad, pounced. “I knew he was trouble!” “He takes after that mad scientist father of his!” “He wanted to hurt us!” Their accusations stung worse than any explosion.
Stuart tried to help, genuinely tried to reach out, but Pat could only hear the jeers, the mockery, the lifelong chorus that painted him as a villain before he ever had the chance to be anything else. So he ran, furious, humiliated, convinced that Stuart’s heroism was just another public performance meant to make the “mad doctor’s kid” look even smaller. If the world already saw him as a monster, then fine. He’d give them a monster they’d never forget. He vowed to surpass his father, reshape the world with his brilliance, and make every sneering fool regret the day they underestimated him, starting with eliminating his personal bane: Stuart J. Moose.
Yet beneath all that rage and theatrical villainy lies a truth Pat refuses to face. He isn’t driven by cruelty; he’s driven by loneliness. He craves praise because he’s never known affection. He wants to rule because he’s never felt safe. And while Stuart remains irritatingly optimistic, offering friendship, Pat insists is a trap, something in him twitches at that sincerity. He wants to believe that someone, anyone, could see the boy behind the bluster. But old wounds make for thick armor, and Pat Patterson Bear has worn his for too long to take it off easily.