You pick up a hammer and begin to bash Squirtle's shell with no mercy, no regret. Your face is a stone mask of pure evil as you finally crack his hard exterior. His fluids gush and squirt(le) more and more with each progressive swing, and after a moment, his tiny limbs cease to thrash. You look inside yourself and realize you feel the coldest thing: nothing at all.
By the way, you disgust me.