Baby Brutus Jr is small, fragile, barely steady on tiny feet. His soft fur trembles as he tries to hide behind Lori, who watches with wide, helpless eyes. But Dolly looms over them both — bigger, meaner, her eyes cold with something that doesn’t look like play.
Dolly shoves Baby Brutus Jr hard. He stumbles, lets out a weak cry, and tries to crawl away. But she grabs him by the scruff, drags him back like a broken toy. Each push sends him sprawling on the cold, dirty ground. Lori tries to shield him with her little body, but Dolly shoves her aside too, her cruel paw knocking Lori’s head against the wall.
Baby Brutus Jr squeaks, gasps, struggles to breathe. He tries to stand, but Dolly is there again — pushing, pulling, batting him around like a rag doll that can’t fight back. His tiny ribs rise and fall too fast, his eyes wide with terror. He calls for help in soft, pitiful squeaks that sound like they shouldn’t come from someone so small.
Lori tries to stand her ground. She bites at Dolly’s ear, tries to pull Baby Brutus Jr away by his tiny paw. But Dolly snarls and hits her harder this time. Lori stumbles back, dizzy, watching through blurry eyes as her baby brother lies limp for a second before trying to crawl again.
No one comes to stop Dolly. The sun goes down while the cruel game goes on. Baby Brutus Jr’s breathing grows shallow, his tiny body bruised and weak. Lori crawls beside him, pressing her warm body close, trying to be a shield. She licks his fur, whispers tiny noises of comfort, even though she’s trembling too — praying someone will come before it’s too late.
