At the south end of the Bay, near the shipyards, where black oily water laps against the rocky shoreline, a sodden figure claws its way on to land.
Yiff crawls up on the slick rocks, dripping wet. His bear costume is blackened and burnt past the point of recognition - the friendly bear grin is melted and his doll eyes are missing; only black sockets remain. He makes a guttural wounded animal noise, then vomits sea water out of a hole in his bear head.
He looks back across the Bay at Waterfront Park, which sparkles with light from the cop cars and fire trucks. Helicopters drift up the coastline like dragonflies, searching the dark water with beams of light. He looks at this all and he growls... and he hates.
(At least, that's how I picture the scene. The cops didn't find his body, and I mean, come on - you know he's not dead, right? You know I'm going to have to fight that sick humpy furry wierdo again.)