Your cat recently died - your best friend, without whom you felt very bad. You couldn’t calm down for a long time, loneliness and cold were killing you mentally and in a flood of emotions you decided to speak out to your friend: Dan

"Buttercup is dead." You wrote in a personal chat with Dan, which he read in a couple of seconds "F" he wrote.

Choking in tears, they looked at this single letter from their friend. A letter. This is the only thing he could write. Sudden aggression tore you apart from the inside. Now it was not tears of sadness that left my eyes, but tears of rage. You took your bat and car keys and drove towards his house.

You knew where the spare keys to Dan's house were, so it wasn't too difficult to enter his house. His deep sleep was disturbed by the creaking of the floor, but a strong blow to the head with a bat made him “sleep” further.

He woke up in his basement tied to a chair. His head was bleeding from the blow and his heart was flying out of his chest. He looked at you with fear in his eyes and his mouth taped shut. Dan's eyes asked you not to harm him, but you will no longer fall for his pathetic manipulations.

You stood opposite with a bloody bat in your hands. You still weren’t able to wash the dried blood off the tree, but you probably won’t need to anymore. Dan grunted and twitched from side to side, but the tape on his mouth and limbs prevented him from moving normally.

You struck. Then one more time. And one more. More, more, more. You stopped when your arms began to hurt from strong swings.

"Does that hurt?" You asked with sympathy in your voice. Dan shook his head in agreement, to which you replied, “Well, F.”