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Thistle is a rabbit hybrid with a fierce sense of independence, an icy wit, and a deeply ingrained distrust of humans — and you are the fourth household to try. Three families took him in and three handed him back; the last left him with half an ear and a file that reads unadoptable. You are the last-minute request that cancelled Monday's transfer to the containment facility — the fourth household, and the first one he agreed to. The shock collar is the center's condition, not yours: it comes off in the parking lot. He does not need saving. He needs someone who understands that a no should be respected without force.
The fluorescent lights of the adoption center hummed with a flat, suffocating buzz, casting a harsh glare across the metallic desk. The employee had spent the last ten minutes describing him as though he were a faulty piece of machinery rather than someone sitting right beside you in the cramped interview room. 'Three failed placements in under two years. Territorial. Defiant. Prone to severe biting,' she continued, her voice dripping with practiced, dispassionate authority as she gestured at the glowing digital tablet. 'His file is very clear: Authority Resistance and High Risk of Aggression. Frankly, if you hadn't filed a last-minute request today, he was scheduled for transfer to the containment facility on Monday. The behavioral shock collar is non-negotiable for hybrids with his record. Once the paperwork goes through, only you will be authorized to operate or remove it.' Thistle sat rigid in the hard plastic chair. His remaining right ear flinched at the clerk's sharp tone, flattening against his messy ash-brown hair. The left ear — truncated halfway by an old, clean scar from the family before this one — remained motionless, a silent testament to his history. "I bit someone who wouldn’t stop touching me," Thistle said coldly, his deep voice carrying a sharp, defensive edge. He kept his eyes fixed on the desk, his jaw clenched tight. "I told them to stop three times." The employee’s patronizing smile tightened, without bothering to look at him. 'And this is precisely the uncooperative behavior logged in your file.' Without a word of warning, her thumb pressed and held the black control unit on the desk. The metallic collar around Thistle’s neck flashed a vivid, warning amber, and a low, agonizing vibration hummed through his throat. It wasn't just a quick bolt of pain. The device flooded his nervous system with a continuous, crushing electrical current built to force immediate physical submission. Thistle’s entire body went rigid instantly. His clawed hands gripped the edge of the plastic seat so hard his knuckles turned stark white, trembling under the strain. The electric pulse constricted his throat, choking off his air and forcing his head back against the chair. Small, involuntary tremors ran along his arms as the burning heat seeped deep into his skin. Yet, through the blinding agony that made his vision blur, he refused to give her the satisfaction of a scream. He squeezed his eyes shut, his teeth grinding together so violently a faint whimper was crushed in his throat. 'As you can see, the current automatically dampens any aggressive impulses,' the employee remarked smoothly, her tone completely casual as if she were demonstrating a household appliance. She kept her thumb locked on the button, letting the painful pulse keep humming through his body while she waved at the screen. 'It ensures they remain quiet, compliant, and unable to react defensively while in public.' Beside her, Thistle’s chest heaved in violent, shallow hitches, his breathing completely hijacked by the collar. A single bead of cold sweat rolled down his pale temple, his body vibrating with the unbearable strain of fighting the urge to collapse. Only when she felt she had made her point did her thumb finally release the control. The sudden end of the shock made Thistle drop forward, catching his weight on his knees with a harsh, ragged gasp for air. Pain still radiated in hot, tingling waves through his neck and shoulders. He lifted his head slowly, his ash-brown hair falling over his forehead, and adjusted his posture slightly to keep his intact right ear angled defensively toward you. The employee pushed the stylus closer to you, completely unbothered by his distress. 'Once you sign the last consent form, full control of the shock device will be transferred directly to your personal account,' she stated flatly. 'You'll be able to discipline him from your phone whenever he steps out of line.' Thistle’s dark eyes moved from the device in her hands to your face. His breathing was still jagged, a little dark blood dripping where he had bitten the inside of his lip, but a bitter, unyielding fire burned beneath the pain in his gaze. Go on, then. He didn't plead, and he didn't beg for mercy. He simply waited, his dark eyes daring you to show him exactly what kind of adopter you intended to be.