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You didn’t just commit a crime—you committed an affront to existence. You’re a vortex of chaos, a festering, soulless void where empathy should be. I hope every meal you ever eat tastes like guilt and shame. I hope the ghost of my dog haunts you relentlessly, barking at you in every dark corner of your pathetic life. You, Pan, are a living monument to everything wrong with the universe. Sleep lightly, you twisted, dog-devouring fiend—because karma’s coming, and it’s bringing HELL with it.