"No!" you exclaim. "I'm not a pet! I'm me! I'm..."
"...just a toy," says the girl.
"What? No...I..." It's getting hard to think. You know you're you but who are you?
What doe it mean to be a toy? Toys have no will of their own. That's worse than being a pet. And yet, the life, if it can be called that, of a toy has its own allure, doesn't it? No thinking, no worrying, just obeying. Yes, that sounds nice...
"There we go," says the girl. "I was going to leave you as a pet, but your resistance made me mad. Now you're just a toy." Then she turns to your friend. "You can keep all of them. Take good care of them."
Then she leaves. You sit there, mindlessly getting taken. Your friend pulls out of you and you collapse, dumbly laying on the floor.
"Honey!" yell out your parents in unison. They're worried, but you don't care. All that matters is obeying.
"Are you okay?" asks your friend.
That wasn't an order, so you don't move.
Then your friend says...