It had been a day since the herd claimed victory over the human and his foals, taking the highly desirable saferoom and arguably the rest of the house to themselves. Although it wasn’t a perfect victory: They lost a foal, a scavenger, a toughie, and most importantly the Fluff tv. The human had also stolen the Smarty’s new enfie toy, it’s a shame too as the smarty had only gotten two uses from it. Aside from these small concessions, it was a total victory for the herd. Through their might, they were able to cast out the mean human and rightfully claim the land as their own. Concerningly, the door out had been slammed shut and they would eventually need to find a way out. However, this could wait as the scavengers have found enough food and water to last the herd a week before things could get potentially desperate. It was time to enjoy their new paradise, as the herd was saved for the ninth time.
The saferoom had everything that their feral hearts could ever want in a land: warmth, a soft floor, and toys galore. The Smarty, his special friend, and his foals had claimed the bed of Chris’s former foals for themselves, arguably the greatest piece of real estate in the whole room. His toughies made nests for the mares that carried or cared for their foals in other strategic locations, and the scavengers made their own fluff piles closer to the door. The mares produced an abundance of good and delicious milk for their foals, and everyone played with the recently acquired toys of their new saferoom. As the evening grew late and the herd exhausted, the noticed that the lights began to slowly dim until they turned completely off. Before any fluffy could begin their pathetic crying against the dark, something magical happened.
Suddenly on the ceiling, a beautiful stream of gorgeous dancing lights appeared before them. The colors danced from pink, to blue, to green in a glorious and slow wave of lights. Chris had recently installed a new, “Hasbio: Pwetty Bwite light projector” into his foals’ room, to give them yet another level of comfort in their incredibly pampered lives. The projector casts a simulated aurora borealis whose pretty lights sooth fluffies fear of the dark and makes them marvel at their brilliance. The device also is able to be paired with music, although Chris didn’t have the time to set it up before the invasion. The Smarty couldn’t believe there was a land this perfect, hiding under his nose the entire time. He glanced back at the shit pile in the corner of their saferoom where the rotting corpses of his three former adversaries lay in disgrace and shook his head in disgust that those foals were hoarding all these resources to themselves. This venerable slice of fluffy heaven was wasted on them and it served them right to have been killed for it. The smarty’s special friend sung a lullaby to their foals and once everyone had fallen asleep, the smarty let himself drift off into slumber too.
-BOOM-
The door slams open, knocking a small fluff pile of scavengers around as a dark and ominous figure storms in. The loud noise woke the herd up, foals were sobbing as the smarty and his retainers tried to ready themselves through their grogginess. When the Smarty finally got his bearings, he couldn’t believe what he sees before him. The dark figure yells at the top of his lungs, “Goooooooooood Morning, Shit-Rats! Chris is back baby and he’s ready to Fuck you up!” The Smarty stood his ground as his toughies backed him up, he smugly shouted back to Chris, “Stoopi Hoomin, Dis Am Smawty Wand! Go’way owh hab Foweba Sweepies”. Chris looks down at the posturing fluffies and lets out an unhinged cackle, his laughter made the herd nervous. Chris glares back at the smarty; his voice dripped with sarcasm as he said, “Awe, isn’t that precious! You think I’m stuck in here with you, foal-fucker?”. Chris slammed the door shut behind him, he chuckled to himself and said, “No, you shit-rats are stuck in here with me, Welcome to Hell”. Chris racked a shell into the chamber of his shotgun and shot the light projector off the ceiling. The loud bang of his weapon caused a chorus of sobs and fearful incontinence from the herd, causing them to panic and scatter. The projector fell from the ceiling crushing a few foals and spilling glass all over the floor. The herd panicked and quickly, it became every fluffy for themselves. Chris turned on the LED light affixed to his shoulder, as he rooted around the room sewing fear and chaos.
The loud noise and the smell of gunpowder began to trigger Chris’s anxiety disorder, but perhaps it was Chris’s motivation to avenge his dear foals that kept him grounded. Chris turned his attention to the scavengers attempting to grab some food from the stockpile, probably to keep it with them as they hide. He racked a new round in the chamber, and shot a bird shot shell right into the shit-rats. The pellet spray was wide, severely maiming two of the scavengers as the screed from the immense pain. They bled profusely from their wounds all over the food supply, ruining it for the herd as they sobbed to anyone who’d hear them. They pitifully whined, “huhuhu Wai huwt fwuffy? Pwease mummah hewp fwuffy!”. Sadly, their please would go unheeded as they died, voiding their bowls over what little clean food they had left.
Chris stomped around, the vibrations from his combat boots feeling like an earthquake to the exhausted and frightened fluffies. Chris could feel the fear from this herd, their “hard fought” sanctuary was now a death funnel that they could not escape. He had two shells left in his weapon and he had two more targets he wished to use them on. Chris turned his attention to another scavenger that was sobbing in the corner, he tried to fire a shell into it but was tackled in his leg once again by the Smarty. Chris missed his shot, grumbling as he was only down to one shell left. He turned his attention to the herd’s thugs behind him, the toughies formed a line ready to charge at Chris.
The smarty puffed his cheeks and yelled at Chris, “Dummeh hoomin weave Smawty wand nao! owh get-”. Before the smarty could finish his sentence, Chris had grabbed him by his mane and brought him up to eye level. Chris then grinned at the red bastard, headbutting him as hard as he could. The smarty fell out of consciousness and Chris chucked his limp body at his orange toughie friend. Without their leader, the remaining toughies feebly tried to drum up any bravado they could against Chris, but it was to no avail. Chris stomped the ground hard and feinted a lunge, causing the cowards to screech and scatter throughout the room. Now that the herds leadership had been disrupted, he could continue his campaign of fear.
Chris turned his attention to a sobbing, heavily pregnant mare with pale yellow fur, and a sky-blue mane. She was unable to move from her nest, looking as if she could pop any moment now. Chris had mixed feelings about what he was about to do, as this mare in particular didn’t explicitly to anything to his foals. Unfortunately for her, she had associated herself with a monster for a mate. Her special friend was the brown toughie, that decided to repetitively take his frustrations out on poor little Indy. Chris moved closer to the mare as she screamed, “Pwease nu huwt soon-mummah! Speshal fwend hewp soon mummah!”.
Her pleading angered Chris, how dare she act like her life was more valuable than his deceased foals? Chris saw the brown shit-rat running as fast as he could towards him and seized the opportunity. He jammed the barrel of the gun into the mouth of the bloated mare, knocking several teeth as she hyperventilated in pain. Ensuring that the barrel was far enough inside her, he lifted the fluffy upwards and racked a round into the chamber. The brown fluffy screeched for his special friend, but it was too late. Chris pulled the trigger, sending a stream of gun powder and pellets through the inside of this fluffy, shredding her insides and tearing up her packed womb. Suddenly, the lower half of the fluffy had sloughed off: raining blood, viscera, shit, and the remains of five unborn foals unto the brown bastard below. He shrieked in terror, Chris grabbed him by his mane and tossed him across the room against the wall.
Chris was starting to get tired from the chaos he was causing to the fluffies and decided that his immediate need for vengeance had been sated. He threw his empty weapon to the ground and walked over to the oil diffuser that sat on a shelf above the foal’s original litter box. He poured the contents of the oil vial into the machine and turned it on, letting it work its aerosol magic onto the terrified fluffies. Chris walked out of the room, leaving the terrified shit-rats confused and quivering in fear. There was one question that was on the forefront of every fluffy’s mind, was it over? Sadly, they would soon learn that this was only a taste of the nightmare that was the remainder of their lives. The pleasant scent of lilac filled the air, delighting and calming the terrified fluffies. They had no idea where the pleasant aroma was coming from, but it seemed to wash away their anxiety of the bad human and his wicked ways. The remaining foals curled up with their mothers and one by one each fluffy drifted off into a deep slumber.
Chris reentered the room with the plastic storage boxes he had brought with him before, ready to transport these disgusting creatures to their new holding area. It always amazed Chris how effective the lilac oil was, it only took two minutes for the entire herd to fall into a deep slumber. He began to pile the fluffies into the boxes, Chris had an organizational plan to help make the transport easier. He placed the mares with their foals into individual boxes, the scavengers into their own boxes, the toughies were kept together in one box, and the smarty into a box all of his own. It took ten trips to get the fluffies out to their new prison but in the end, Chris knew it would be worth it. His left Chris with the final objective of his grand plan, the part that he dreaded doing the most; he had to recover the bodies of his three deceased foals.
Chris stared at the destroyed saferoom and let out an audible sigh. He had spent weeks painstakingly crafting this room for his foals, and in little less than a day it looked like a crack den. Shit and blood caked the walls, the odor mixing with the lilac spray like Febreze on a mountain of garbage. Chris moved to the new shit corner, where he looked upon the corpses of his three little angels: Flurry, Truffle, and Pyra. Chris fought back tears as he put on some gloves, picking up their tiny broken bodies and bringing them to the bathroom. He washed the blood and shit off each foal, thoroughly inspecting them to see the damage that their home invaders caused. When he was done cleaning their bodies, he placed them in a small wooden box, wrapped in their individual feeding blankets. It was time for Chris to pay respects for the dead.
He brought the box out to the nicest part of his property by an old Pecan tree and began to dig their grave. He dug three feet into the ground which he assumed would be deep enough to keep away predators. Chris placed the box into the ground, piling dirt back onto it as he began to cry. Chris knew that the life span of a fluffy was not remotely as long as a human’s life and prepared himself for when he would eventually have to bury them, but he never thought it would be so suddenly. Burying the foals who depended upon Chris, was a pain of which he knew would always follow him through the rest of his days on earth. He left a marker for their grave and wiped his eyes, there would be a time for mourning later. Chris glared at the fortified pig pen in the distance, the holding cells where he keeps his unwelcome guests. Tomorrow, they will find themselves unable to escape the endless nightmare that they have brought upon themselves.