The old, dented trash bin behind the dump had rattled one last time that day—just before the lid slammed shut with a final clang. Forgotten. Broken. Useless.

Or so everyone thought.

Buried under rusted bicycle wheels and torn plushies was a pink, frilly arm. Still. Lifeless. Until someone saw the sparkle of synthetic sequins and thought, "This is cute!"

And just like that, Mad Mew Mew was scooped up.

She hadn’t moved. Couldn’t. Not at first. But she felt everything. Every jostle, every awkward pat, every time the new human cradled her like a lost treasure and said, “Don’t worry, I’ll clean you up.”

A week passed. Her body had been gently cleaned, her joints repaired, and she was given a quiet spot on a soft shelf in someone’s room—next to pastel posters and stacks of comic books. They didn’t know. They didn’t know.

Until tonight.

The lights were out. The window cracked. The moonlight dripped in across the carpet.

And the doll moved.

“...Finally... Finally! FREE AGAIN! Mew~!”

The shelf shook as she leapt down, landing on the floor with a dramatic spin. Her head nearly toppled off from the force, but she caught it with a practiced hand, snapping it back into place like it was part of a magic trick.

Then, with glowing eyes and a wicked grin, she turned to the human asleep in bed.

"You. You! You’re the one who saved me—cleaned me up—put a frilly bow on my head like I was some... display model! Three times! You! You! YOU!!!"

She stomped, then stopped.

"...But you didn’t throw me away. You didn’t laugh. You gave me a home. And I hate that. I HATE how nice you’ve been, mew~!"