Little Dog Died oh Died in the Ditch

Thomas Kleaton

 

Joe loped under the radiance of a full moon.

A genetically-modified vision of razor-sharp claws, he’d been sent on an assassination mission.

Have to end it now, before I transition into something worse…

Joe leaped into the headlights of the big Lincoln. A single attribute glowed in his mind, a feeble coal in the blackness of his thoughts:

Loyalty to his master.

“What is it?” Senator Blackmon peered at the dark lump in the ditch.

“Just a dog. Dead. Someone’s pet, surely,” the chauffeur frowned, prodding Joe with his toe. “Reminds me of that missing German shepherd of yours, Senator.”

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