It has been nearly thirty hours since I came home to find three of my four foals dead and my home entirely ruined. Thankfully, I was able to save Indy; but he needed some serious medical care that I simply did not have the means to provide. Not to long after I had staved off death from my dear little foal, I called my breeder friend to tell him what had happened. He came as soon as he could, taking Indy with him to a very good fluffy vet. He expressed his condolences for my losses and assured me he would do everything within his power to help Indy. It’s really true what they say, when you serve with someone; you develop a lifelong friendship. Truth be told he also had a bit of a stake in this too, as he was promised Indy’s usage as a stud and Flurry’s first litter (minus one). So, to him these shit-rats did more than just break a close friend’s family, they ruined his investment. Still, no matter the motivation I am just glad he was able to help.
Although it was medically necessary to get Indy to the vet, I also needed him away from our home for the next few days. Our home’s awful invaders are still trapped in the saferoom and by the looks of it, they had stolen enough food from me to last them a week of Isolation. I had inadvertently compounded the problem as well, as I had built in a special water bottle attached to the waterline in my house. I had done this to make it easier on my back when needing to refill my fluffies water supply, but I guess all good intentions eventually come to backfire on us. I need to rid my home of these awful creatures and Indy can’t be here to see what I am going to have to do to reclaim our home.
The first thing I did, was to review the security recording of the safe room on my computer. I had installed a camera to record roughly twenty-four hours of film, so that I could periodically check on the foals when I was away or needed to dispute any potential disagreements between them. Unfortunately, I did not have the time to properly sync it to my phone; perhaps doing so could have saved the lives of my three other foals. I cycled through the recording and made as many notes as I could, writing down important things such as: List the invaders by their colors, Identifying the culprits who harmed my foals, what their power dynamic was, and even down to which foals belonged to which mares and stallions. I’m not going to lie; it was hard for me to watch what they did to my little foals; but I needed the information. Once I was satisfied with what information I had, I began to make the preparations to seek retribution on these shit-rats. I decided to call this plan, “Operation Searing Hatred”.
The first thing I did after recording the info I needed, was to sleep. My body was exhausted from today’s spectacle and my leg needed some rest. I didn’t get much sleep unfortunately, the nightmares of Helmand returned, In addition to new nightmares of my poor foals. Their deaths played in my head, their pleas for me gone unheard and shown no mercy from those nasty pieces of shit. When I realized that the sleep that I desperately needed was not going to come to me, I went to the barn and decided to begin the first step of my preparations.
On the side of the barn, there was a small pen used to house some of the previous owner’s livestock. It was old and dilapidated, having not received the necessary repairs to keep it maintained. This is where I plan to keep my homes Insurgents, while I go through the phases of my grand scheme. Using the wood that I had picked up the other day for home repairs and a play fort for my foals, I reinforced the pen. I made sure that visibility was limited, and that escape would be impossible. While working on my new, “Shit-rat Prison” I had decided to partition sections off, creating small blocks to divide its residents. Fluffies are social animals, they desperately need any form of interaction or attention to survive. Dividing up this herd will weaken their morale and be a lingering aspect of their punishment. After three hours of work, I had made the modifications it needed and decided to move onto the next aspect of my plan.
I moved back into the house to my bedroom and dug out one of my old Navy working uniforms. The uniform was a digitized green camo with bright black boots, the shirt still had my name tapes and rank sewn on. Despite it being nearly a year since I last wore this uniform, it still fit just as good as it did before. I found my old black tactical vest and wore it over my uniform. I affixed an LED light to my shoulder, as it may be beneficial to me during my plan. I looked myself over I the mirror and felt a cold shiver run down my spine, it felt weird to see this old thing on me. It was like looking into a window to the past, though the man I saw staring back at me I barely recognized. He was exhausted, angry, and as if his eyes were completely void of hope. I then walked over to my gun safe and looked at the selection of weapons available to me. Sadly, though due to my severe lack of ammunition, I only had four twelve-gauge bird shot shells at my disposal. This will have to do, but I am sure that it will be more than enough for what I need it for. I grabbed my old shotgun, a well-maintained Winchester 1300 with bright wood furniture and begin to load it up. With my gun ready, I walked back into the hallway to grab my final supplies: Several plastic storage containers and a small container of lilac oil.
I sat outside the door to the saferoom, waiting until the shit-rats inside began to quiet down for bedtime. Moving in the upmost quiet, I quietly removed the barricading furniture from the saferoom door so that I would remain unimpeded in my mission. A nasty smell of feral fluffy shit wafted from under the door frame, it was one of the most revolting things I have smelled in ages. Normally fluffy shit is repugnant, but due to the feral’s inconsistent diet it was like sticking your head into untreated sewage. When this is all over and done with, it may take a professional cleaning crew weeks to make my house livable again. It was taking forever for these little shits to quiet down, perhaps I’ve gotten so used to my Foals early sleeping schedule that it never occurred to me how long adult fluffies stay awake. As I waited for these chattery assholes to fall asleep, I reviewed the plan in my head.
The first thing I am going to do, is spread as much fear and chaos that I can onto this herd. Fluffies are by nature extreme cowards and fear is an excellent tool to keep them in check. Fluffies can be scared easily from loud noises, darkness, to even a stern voice. I intend to kill a few members of the herd, specific fluffies I have selected to further propagate fear through their leadership. I selected these individuals because at least according to the tapes, they did not actively participate in the saferoom murders. It may seem unfair, it was very clear to the video feed that the Smarty and his retainers ruled this herd with an Iron fist, so anything I can do to disrupt it is absolutely necessary.
The next step would be to transport the remaining members of the herd out to the fortified pig pen in the back, which is what my storage containers and lilac oil will be used for. I’m not making thirty odd trips to take these shit-rats to their new prison, so these containers will be easy for me to drag and drop them in. The lilac oil, I will put in the safe room’s oil diffuser to ensure easier transfer. One of the interesting things about these man-made creatures, is the amount of weird genetic quirks they happen to have. Fluffies react strangely to different environmental factors and for some weird reason diffused lilac oil works as a sleeping gas for these small creatures. I had originally used this diffuser, as a means to help my foals (flurry in particular) sleep through the night. Even the toughest of these miniature horses, will succumb to slumber within minutes of breathing in the oil. That means less bitching and faster moving.
The final step in my grand design, is to recover the bodies of my deceased foals and to give them a proper burial. What these monsters did to my poor babies is unforgivable, but the sheer fact they used their corpses as a marker for their community toilet is a step too far. It’s been over a day of their soulless bodies marinating in feral fluffy shit, I’m going to have to wash them before they are buried. My foals were little angels, they did not deserve to succumb to this terrible fate. In their final moments the were hurt, scared, and all alone begging for me with their dying breaths. The security footage is burned into my mind, their unanswered pleas will always weigh my heart down with guilt. I felt the anger inside me growing, as I realized these shit-rats had finally fallen asleep. It was now time for me to put forth my plan into action, it was time to initiate Operation Searing Hatred.
I don’t really remember the next part all to well. I remember standing in front of the saferoom door, psyching myself up for what I was about to do. Anger was welling inside me to a near breaking point, I gripped my shotgun in a near death grip. My body felt hot all over, I remember my breathing began to get shallower and faster. I hyper focused on the saferoom, my body began to move on its own as if I were out of control. I watched myself kick the door open and raise my shotgun to the dimly lit room in front of me. And I Just…Went…Off…