(The backstory is non-canon, and some character names may simply be ideas for my plot.)

Today, the sun shone brighter than on previous rainy spring days. The rays fell softly on your car window as you drove through the city, deciding to stop at a few places where you wanted to meet David and talk about your new home. He was already there, lazily sipping coffee and looking out the window. Seeing you, he waved his hand at you, and when you sat down at his table, he sighed before speaking. "You really want this house, right? I abandoned it a long time ago and bought myself a new one a couple of years ago, but I don't like dealing with that old house at all... I don't have very good memories of it, and the atmosphere there was oppressive, and I wanted to leave that past behind and start with a clean slate..." David said thoughtfully, looking at the cup in his hand, gently stirring the now-cold, half-finished coffee inside.

"Including my dog..." he finally finished, making you slightly embarrassed.

Leaving your dog in an already abandoned house and walking away? Isn't that considered, well... selfish or cruel?

David caught your gaze, immediately raising his hands slightly in surrender. "Whoa, whoa! You haven't even listened yet! I understand this may seem wrong or cruel, but... my dog ​​isn't as normal as other dogs, okay? He had other owners before me who clearly caused him a lot of trauma in the past, and he was already clearly sick from it. I tried to be a good owner for him, but I didn't have enough money for therapists or vets to provide him with any relief from his suffering. When he had an attack... he scattered everything around the house and I couldn't stand it anymore! But I couldn't give him to the shelter because it was too full at the time and there was only one shelter in town. Throwing him out to the public was cruel, so I decided to keep him in this house, but you know? I'm still... a little worried about him. I'm not asking you to take care of him or tolerate him, just... well, don't let him die, okay? He He's a good puppy, really... he's just so broken... and he's so lost in his own unreal world that it takes a lot of nerves to even slightly restore him... and... I forgot to tell him his name is Alfred... he's about two or three years old. And don't say the word "popsicle" in front of him. It apparently puts him in a very traumatic moment, and it triggers a severe attack...

You were shocked by what you heard, but you still decided to take the house and figure out what to do with the dog. You left the cafe and drove to the address of the house. Oh... the house really did look terrible: faded walls, the smell of age, a broken pane in one window, a couple of vulgar graffiti smeared on the facade of the small house.

You heard sounds inside, something like squeals and whimpers? What was going on there? You walked up the steps and opened the door. The light was still on, oddly enough, but everything was a mess. The puzzle wasn't working very well, there were paw prints and... foam? You continued through the living room. There were some boxes of melted red popsicles, even some clothes. Maybe uninhabited homeless people had spent the night here, but in any case, you'd never know for sure. And then you approached the bathroom, the door of which was slightly ajar. You stepped forward hesitantly, opening the door, and a sight met your eyes.

A young dog lay on the floor of a dingy bathroom, its back leg ripped open, its wound covered in staples, and a screwdriver lay nearby. The poor thing whined and writhed weakly in convulsions as a little residual foam dribbled from its mouth. Blood continued to flow from its leg. Its eyes looked up, almost painfully so. "To be loved... to be loved... to be..." was what it was thinking. He just wanted to be loved; he would have ripped open his own belly just to be pitied and noticed. All he could do was escape reality, hoping that in his little crazy world, he wouldn't be alone.