If Thirteen could speak human language at this moment, it would likely stare at Bruce and scream at the top of its lungs, “I may not be human, but you're a real bastard!”
Its round, wet eyes fixed on him, its short, labored breaths filled with despair. Bruce lowered his head, holding the cold, slender metal syringe in his hand, its needle glinting with a chilling light in the air. He sighed, gently stroking Thirteen’s head, his voice soft yet almost cruel: “Don’t be afraid, this is for your own good.”
In its eyes, Bruce saw the last flickering embers of trust. Then, without hesitation, he plunged the needle in.
The first injection produced an almost immediate reaction. Thirteen's pupils dilated suddenly, its limbs went limp, and the entire puppy collapsed onto the carpet like a rag doll
