“Wait… that’s not blood. That’s—oh God…”
The biker froze.
Rain trickled off his leather jacket, running into the dark puddle at his feet. It wasn’t oil. It wasn’t mud.
It was blood — faint, diluted, and still warm.
And then he saw it — a small shape beside the road.
A dog. Trembling, soaked, one paw twisted awkwardly under its body, eyes wide open but full of fear.

It didn’t bark. It didn’t move. It just looked at him — pleading, trusting, as if he was the only hope left in the world.
The man dropped to his knees. “Hang on, buddy… I’ve got you.”
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