Warning, the following content is extremely graphic. It deals with blood, gore, and the aftermath of assault. This may make readers uncomfortable and hopefully it does not violate any community rules, enjoy
Chris worked tirelessly in service of his final remaining foal Indy; and from the look of him it would be no easy task. Indy was lain on his stomach over a rag covered cutting board, it was the most stable object that he could be placed upon. Chris lined up the various medical supplies that he had, but it left a lot to be desired. A bottle of rubbing alcohol, a few small band aids, some gauze wraps and pads, a few cotton swaps, two tongue depressors, and about three left over Vicodin pills from his knee surgery. It was far from ideal, but any little bit helped. Indy cheeped fearfully, his voice sore and strained from his previously unheard pleas. Chris crushes a piece of his Vicodin, and gently as he can places the powder on the young coltâs tongue. A single pill of Vicodin can take the pain away out of a fully grown manâs busted kneecap, but for a weanling foal it is as good as any anesthetic. Chris went to wash his hands as Indy quickly faded out of consciousness, he needs to look the poor foal over and canât have him squirming in pain.
Chris began to inspect all the damage that Indy sustained, and my god was it horrific. The Stallions had knocked our all of Indyâs brand-new teeth and fractured his jaw. Fluffies can grow multiple sets of teeth in their lifetime, but only if their jaws remain intact. As a growing weanling who hasnât completely grown all his teeth in yet, having his jaw broken was one of the worst things that could happen to him. His jaw will never properly heal, which means that his teeth will never properly grow back in. Even if Indy is lucky and some do grow back, the few teeth that grow will be twisted, poorly formed, and completely useless to eat solid food. He will never be able to eat kibble or the ever tantalizing âSkettisâ. What made things worse is that the dry sockets that will undoubtedly form, will make any suckling motion that Indy makes unbearably painful. He will not be able to consume his formula for some time and will need to ingest a flavorless nutrition gel while he heals. This is a huge problem; his special formula has made his stomach incredibly sensitive and there is no guarantee he will be able to handle or hold the gel down. He may need to consume his food intravenously, which will be a massive problem all on its own. Chris wraps a little gauze around his head and jaw, hopefully to help prevent him from moving it while he heals.
Chris observes Indyâs body and notices bits of missing fluff, scrapes, and bruises all over his body. The bigger stallions must have thrown him around like a rag doll, the fucking monsters. Indy isnât even two months old yet, heâs still very much a âTalkie Babbehâ as these creatures call their foals who still depend on milk. Chris notices the bad shape that Indyâs wings are in and sighs, it looks like the stallions deliberately tried to sheer them off. They were mangled and twisted, twitching out of sync with one another. There is a very strong possibility that his wings are broken beyond repair and may require amputation. This would devastate Indy; a Pegasusâs wings are tied to their concept of self as it is what makes them special. His assailants must have done this to prevent him from flying away, the fucking morons. It must have hurt too, Pegasi have an absurd amount of nerve endings in their useless little wings, even a small flick would feel like a punch in the stomach. Outside of the damage to his wings and backs, his ribs and stomach seem to be ok. Chris cuts down the tongue depressors and builds little makeshifts splints for Indyâs wings with the gauze tape. He places the small bandages on his scrapes, cleaning each one with rubbing alcohol. Thank god for the Vicodin, the sharp burning of the alcohol would have been too much for poor little Indy to handle. Chris exhales to himself as he moves to the next section of Indy, as he knows this is where he was hurt the worst.
Upon inspection of his foal, it is very clear that Indy had been assaulted by the stallions. It nauseated Chris, that these bio-toys would engage in such horrifically evil behavior. Indyâs hind fur was coated in shit and blood, it was evident the stallions didnât even try to be gentle. The damage to his sphincter and anus were extensive and will never properly heal. This was a major issue for Indy; he was already a frequent night-shitter and was incredibly embarrassed by this humiliating habit. He really did try his best to make it to the litterbox, he worked so hard and was so proud of himself the nights where he didnât shit or wet himself. All that hard work is gone now, he will never be able to control his bowls again. Indy will never feel it happen and will most likely need a diaper for the rest of his life. He worked so hard, and now heâs no more capable than a paralyzed pillow fluff. Though that is only one aspect of the consequences the stallions have put upon Indy with their sickening actions.
When HASBIO designed fluffies, they had designed them to be able to excrete and smell very subtle pheromones. The idea behind this was to help subtly communicate to their motherâs (and possibly owners) some of their current needs. A fluffy can communicate hunger, fear, or even happiness through their pheromones; it is even a means of how fluffy moms prioritize their foals. Foals that are born with exceptionally rare colors, excrete a very powerful and pleasing pheromone, that makes its mother want to prioritize their care (most likely to ensure the more marketable foals get a higher chance of survival). In theory it was a great idea, but due to their âIncompleteâ nature, the pheromone system in fluffies is faulty. Foals that are born with not-so-great colors donât exude such a powerful pheromone or even sometimes at all, which increases the mother to reject them. This is the âNu smeww Pwettyâ effect we see in âpoopie babbehsâ and why creatures so baby obsessed as fluffies can so quickly reject their foals. This just only one of the many issues the pheromone system has, but unfortunately it would be a major issue for Indy.
Another problem with the incomplete fluffy pheromone system, was the rare case of the enfie baby. HASBIO could never have conceived that this would be a problem with their bio-toys, and this unfortunately has disastrous effects for the victims of this heinous act. When a foal is attacked in such a way, it aggressively releases pheromones that act as a plea for anyone to help it. Unfortunately, it has the exact opposite reaction because of their early release by PETA. Mares and other foals find this pheromone putrid reacting to it with immense disgust, not unlike how some individuals blame victims in assaults; doing the opposite of what the pheromone was intended to do. This also leads to another issue with this pheromone due to the incomplete nature of fluffies. Since foals are still developing, they have issues regulating the release of these pheromones. Essentially because of the unspeakable trauma of enfies, foals that begin to excrete this pheromone are never able to stop excreting it. No matter what a fluffy does or where a fluffy goes, they will always be sussed out as an enfie baby and treated with disgust and contempt by other fluffies. These heartless monsters did more than just harm Indy physically, they had made it so he could never enjoy the company of another fluffy again; they had condemned him to a life of isolation and heartbreak.
Chris cleaned up the area as best as he could, but he didnât have the tools to do anything substantial enough to repair. Indy would need a real doctor soon, and it would not be a good experience. Further inspection upon Indy revealed that his testes had darkened in color and had been completely crushed. Chris felt extra bad for Indy, he had once been hit in the sack by a baseball when he was a teenager, and the pain was unbearable. It must have been one of the most intense moments of pain in little Indyâs life and it just made Chris feel worse about leaving them unattended. It was unfair, Indy had decent coat colors but most importantly he had a dominant gene for high-sheen fur. There are many genetic traits that fluffies can express, with the high sheen fur being a very in-demand trait. Even shit colored foals that have this trait, go up nearly two grades in value and are afforded the opportunity to breed because of how rare this desirable trait is. However, Chris didnât really care about the value of this genetic expression, he had simply intended to let all of his foals eventually breed because he wanted them to experience life and be happy. Sadly, this would never come to be with three foalâs dead, and one violently neutered. This would also affect Indyâs growth; without his testes to release hormones during puberty, Indy would be much frailer and smaller than a normal stallion his age. In one fell swoop, this herd had taken Indyâs future away.
Chris had the unfortunate duty of having to remove Indyâs testicles, something he had been against doing for all of his foals since day one. Unfortunately, he really had no choice in the matter. The damage was extensive, and the pain was excruciating, not to mention the rapid swelling indicated to Chris that they would ultimately begin to rot. Saving Indy from an infection was a priority, and unfortunately Chris needed to make this decision for Indy. He grabbed a pair of scissors that he sterilized and wrapped a tight band around the base of Indyâs testes. After waiting a moment, he snipped his testes off, and applied gauze and pats. Fortunately Indy was young enough for the neutering not to have a massive psychological impact on his sense of identity but compare to the nightmare he endured its barely a pittance.
Finally, Chris moved onto Indyâs hind legs and was already able to so see that the damage was extensive. Indyâs left leg was mangled and twisted; a stallion must have stomped on it several times to stop him from moving. More concerningly however his right leg was missing skin from the kneecap down. His bloody and exposed muscle tissue were disgusting to look at, and it was caked in fluffy shit. This was an immediate risk of infection, and Chris needed to act fast. Chris grabbed Indy and turned on the faucet, he gently washed away the shit from his exposed leg. Unfortunately for Indy, the Vicodin wore off and he began to skree and cheap loudly. Chris mumbled to himself, âFuck, it wore off to quicklyâ he couldnât give Indy another crushed up Vicodin, there was too good of a chance that it would destroy his liver or put him into cardiac arrest from an overdose. The next part was going to be very difficult, and extremely heart breaking. Indyâs left leg can be saved and just needs to be set, but his right leg was going to need to be amputated.
Chris immediately began prepping Indy; he tied some dental floss around the little foals left leg to help stem the loss of blood. He also turned on his stove and placed a flat metal knife onto the coil, dental floss would be a poor tourniquet and he would need to seal the wound quickly as possible. He moved to the left leg and began to try and set it back in place, Indy screamed and chirped as loudly as his sore voice could let him. It hurt Chris to hear his precious little foal in such agony, but it was now a matter of life and death. Chris finished setting the leg, bracing it with the remaining pieces from the tongue depressors and wrapping it in gauze. Now on to the worst part, the amputation. Chris began to sooth Indy by stroking his head, he wanted to try and keep him as calm as possible before he began the process. He sung to Indy in a soft voice the ever popular, âDaddeh Wubs Babbehâ lullaby that his fluffies loved to hear. Chris could feel tears streaming down his face, he continued to sing the calming song to Indy as he held him firmly in place. He grabbed his cleaver and raised it above Indy and in one fell swoop sliced his ruined leg clean from his body. Indy cried loudly in unbearable pain; the makeshift tourniquet didnât do much to stem the blood loss. Chris grabbed the white-hot knife from the stove and pressed it firmly against Indyâs bloody stump, the knife sealed the wound but filled the kitchen with an unpleasant scent of burnt flesh and fur. Indy screed as loudly as his exhausted voice would let him, until the pain was so unbearable, he lost consciousness. Chris checked his vitals to make sure he was still alive, and luckily for Chris Indy had a strong will to live. Chris bundled Indy up gently into a few paper towels and went to pour himself a stiff glass of scotch. He has spent 45 minutes working on Indy, and his emergency care would permit Indy to live. He still needed a real doctor for convalescent care, but for now Indy was going to make it.
Chris looked down upon the resting Indy, the sole survivor of his four foals; Chris chugged his scotch and poured another glass. It was fucking awful, he didnât think that these Bio-toy pets could be capable of such abject cruelty, after all they were meant to be toys for children originally. Chris looked back on Indy and to be honest, he wasnât sure if he did the right thing for him. It broke his heart that Flurry, Pyra, and Truffle were dead but at least he knew they were no longer suffering. Indy unfortunately didnât have that luxury, the wounds he sustained would permanently ruin his quality of life and those awful stallions had robbed him of his future. Indy would remain a lonely, untouchable, crippled fluffy whose once hopeful life has been replaced by permanent rejection and contempt of his peers. These shit rats hurt Chrisâs babies, and they were going to pay for what they did to his children.
Chris wandered his house to further assess the damage, its absolutely astounding how much these little fuckers could destroy. What bothered Chris the most though, was how the hell they got inside his home. The back door and front door were locked, how did they get inside and cause all this damage? As Chris continued to investigate, he realized what must have happened. He walked down to the old closet that had the hole he hastily repaired, which he had always kept shut. The door was cracked and flung open; the saran wrap was gone with little tufts of fur all over the floor. Chrisâs blood boiled, he was angry with himself. He was so busy with his foals, he kept putting off the repairs that his home desperately needed. If he had repaired it even just yesterday, this tragedy could have been avoided entirely. His foals were hurt, and it was all his fault for giving the herd an opportunity to sneak in. Chris snapped out of his self-loathing, as he had something more important to tend to, his homes unlawful occupants.