Sally slowly faded into consciousness. The first thing she saw was Pistol looking down at her, concern across his face. Sally was very confused.
“Why am speshul fwen a hooman nao? Sawwy nee gib babbehs miwkies, suuu many babbehs” and she was out again.
Sally had been in surgery for three hours, and it had been hours since then. Pistol had gotten the all clear to bring her home, but still he worried about her, fretting constantly and not leaving her side. Her new jet-black leg twitched occasionally as she slept.
Shane, on the other hand, was presently face down in a five gallon bucket in Pistol’s garage, although now he was missing his rear left leg. Try as he might, he couldn’t right himself, nor could he summon help, it was as if he was not the center of the universe, he’d be sure to complain about all this to life’s manager later.
When Sally finally awoke properly, she was very sore, especially down by her hips. “Daddeh? Sawwy hab owwies, an weggie feew wewwy funny. Wha happeneded?” She still wasn’t firing on both cylinders.
“Shane hurt you Sally. He gave your one leg so many owwies that it had to go away forever, but don’t worry, because one of Shane’s legs decided that it didn’t like Shane anymore and now it’s your leg! It might feel funny for a bit while it learns how to be a Sally leg instead of a Shane leg.” Pistol explained for the fourth time, hoping this one would stick.
This time however, instead of passing out again, Sally followed up with “But Daddeh pwomised dat Shane nu cud hewt Sawwy.” She started to tear up. “Why Daddeh wie tu Sawwy, du daddeh nu wub Sawwy nu mowe?”
“I do and always will love you Sally. I’m so sorry this happened. I didn’t think Shane would be able to hurt you ever again, but I was wrong. From now on I’m going to do everything I can to make sure Shane never hurts you again.” Pistol said as he gently stroked Sally’s mane. “You just rest for now, I have some business to attend to.”
Pistol left the room and went to his office, pulling out a stack of lined paper, his set of technical pens, and a graphing calculator, and got to work.
Three hours later Pistol was done, finishing his work by circling his conclusion on a page that was by now mostly ink by weight, one of dozens strewn about the room.
“Huh… Well then”
Pistol made his way down to the basement, carrying Shane, who was still upside down in a bucket. Shane was asking a lot of questions and getting increasingly frustrated that Pistol was remaining silent.
With an abrupt, crisp motion, Pistol upended the bucked, dumping Shane onto the ground.
“DUMMEH HOOMAN PISTOW! WHY YU MEANIE TO SHANE! DON YU NO SHANE AM BESTEST FWUFFY EBAH!” Shane demanded, and such was his rage that he didn’t even notice that he was standing on only three legs. This time, however, Shane’s programming didn’t go off at all. Shane would take days to figure out that the self-harming part had been toned way down, now only activating for harmful actions.
Pistol just stared at Shane, his expression unmoving, analytical, and cold.
“STOOPI-DUMMEH-STOOPI-STOOPI-POOPIE-DUMMEH-PISTOW-DUMMEH!” Shane screamed, puffing his cheeks out as he did.
Pistol just stared at Shane.
“WEWE WEGGIE? WHY TINKIE PWACE MEANIE?”
Pistol just stared at Shane.
“ANSWAH SHANE!!!” Shane’s voice cracked as he reached peak volume.
Pistol slowly crouched down, lowering himself to be face to face with Shane before he spoke softly.
“I know what you are.”