A chill gust of wind, laden with glittering snowflakes, blew past the mouth of the alleyway. Within was a small herd of fluffies, nestled together in a fluffpile underneath a number of discarded boxes hidden under a blue tarp, clumsily pulled over to serve as a makeshift shelter. The fluffies were trapped. The outset of winter had imprisoned them in this small alleyway. Safe from the cold in their meager shelter, but completely cut off from any form of sustenance, the fluffies within the burrow were all showing the telltale signs of hunger. Their smarty has misled them. Though once a toughie, after the senseless death of his smarty in a totally unnecessary duel with a stray dog, He had taken up the mantle in his stead. For a while, things were great. He was still a fluffy, but he lacked the narcissism and recklessness that had marked the reign of the original smarty friend. All the foolish decisions and wanton violence and unrelenting cruelty that the herd had been used to disappeared overnight as the once-toughie labored tirelessly to ensure the safety of his herd. And his herd was grateful. So very grateful. Too grateful.
They showered him with praise and admiration. âFank ou smawty fwen!â âOu am best smawty fwen ebah!â âYay! Wub nyu smawty fwen!â These praises were sung on an almost daily basis. With each one, the stallionâs heart rose, his confidence rose. Eventually, though it took a while, He came to view himself as a good smarty. A great smarty. The bestest smarty.
The syndrome had taken hold around the end of fall, and by the beginning of winter, it had been in full swing for quite a while. The improvements slowly faded, replaced with the same suffering and cruelty and tyranny and death that the leadership of a smarty brought. Soon, he was no better than the smarty he replaced. The fluffies of his herd suffered greatly and often pointlessly as they trembled in fear of their cruel master. Business as usual.
One brutal and pointless engagement with another smarty friend during a simple visit ended with 3 dead toughies and him losing an eye. The smarty friend that the former toughie challenged was well known. A 4 year survivor in the brutal streets of Marrakesh, Montana: Terry. Terry was a smarty friend, but not by choice. He had only taken the position to spare the herd, and himself, the tyranny of a smarty. Terry was a seasoned fluffy, and knew what it took to survive in the city. He never allowed favoritism in the mares, dissalowwing the waste of foals and the side effects of being âbestestâ, and brutally culled any would be smarties within his ranks. He always hid the herd whenever a genuine threat came near and never attempted to contest the humans. He had seen too many dead smarties and exterminated herds for that.
Terry had been looked up to by the one year old toughie in his early years, but as the syndrome took over the young smarty, that admiration quickly warped into jealousy and insecurity. When Terry and his toughies had dropped by to tell the young fluffies of the horrors of the âcowd timesâ, and the need to head south to escape itâs ravages, the new smarty was eager to prove his superiority to the older smarty friend. When Terry realized that he wasnât being listened to, he attempted to warn the fluffies of the herd, leading to a quick degeneration of the discussion and an attempted sneak attack.
This attack went sideways immediately, as Terry had recognized the smarty-syndrome in his rival and had been expecting the attack after the failure of the negotiations. He had purposely turned his back to the smarty to present a false opening. His rivalâs attempt at a tackle(?) Had ended prematurely with a powerful buck from Terry, expertly crushing his left eye. The toughies attacked as well, giving their worst sorry hoovsies and headbutts, only to receive the brutal eye-bites and jump-stomps of Terryâs well trained toughies. Outnumbered and outgunned, the herdâs toughies were easily crushed. With one last glance of disgust, Terry left the mewling smarty to his alleyway. And his death.
Some of the fluffies were smart enough to take the opportunity to leave while the smarty and toughies were in disarray, but the majority stuck to their smarty. Perhaps out of respect for the smarty friend he used to be, perhaps out of fear of the smarty he was now. Either way, this decision would decide their fate. The smartyâs foolish pride wouldnât let him take the advice of Terry, and he instead decided to stay, despite following Terry once before and knowing first hand how bad the winter could get. Surely the bestest smarty ever would find a way to survive?
He built a refuge in his alleyway, and, drunk on thoughts of taking over all the best nummie places in the city, of taking all of the fluffies in terryâs herd, of giving the terry the very worstest sorry hoovsies and forever sleepies, he hunkered down defiantly in his alley. And so it goes until today. The brutal cold had made nummie finding nearly impossible, and the thick snow was often impossible for a fluffy to traverse. The brown fluffy that he had forced into lookout duty, owing to the lack of toughies, stood at the mouth of the alleyway, whimpering and shivering with cold and hunger, she worried greatly about the fate of her 3 foals, hoping they were warm inside the fluffpile. Despite being at the bottom of the herdâs hierarchy, she had always endeavored to provide for her babbehs, and these times of suffering and death were an ill omen for them indeed. Not to mention, one of her foals had come down with an illness. Already a grim portent for a feral fluffy, it was a death sentence for a foal in the middle of winter.
Then one day, suddenly, a human came, carrying a few bags of equipment. She knew that a new human was a potential threat, so she ran back to warn the herd as quickly as possible. The alley was covered with a sort of roof, though it was more of an overhang from one of the buildings on itâs side, which had served to keep most of the snow out. The fluffy was able to run at nearly full speed. Which of course, was a slowish waddle. The human saw her duck into the den as he turned the corner. The high pitched voices of panic and fear inside the pitiful shelter did nothing to hide their presence either.
The human unloaded his gear. A few cameras, a portable stove, a pan, some canned spaghetti, bowls, and an electric meat saw. The tools of an abuser.
He set up the cameras, all in good angles to capture the alleyway and the burrow in perfect detail, then set up the stove and began warming up some of the spaghetti. He watched the mouth of the burrow expectantly. He knew a fluffy herd during winter would be starving.
Soon, colorful little faces began to poke out of the makeshift nest. Sadness, fear and starvation were etched onto them, and soon quiet mutterings of hunger and sketties could be heard. One of them finally built up the courage to ask.
A thin blue fluffy plodded unsteadily up to the human. He watched the expression of the human carefully, ready to run if it turned sour. Or if it turned too sweet.
âHewwo⌠Nice mistah?â
âYes fluffy?â
âFwuffy an hewd haf biggest tummy owwies⌠Maybe nice mistah⌠shawe sketties?â
The fluffy was utterly defenseless. He had exposed himself to the human alone, and had unknowingly exposed his herd as well. Anyone could tell where the herd was hiding. There was nothing stopping him from tearing the pathetic shelter apart, dragging them out of their miserable hole and crushing all their fluffy skulls underfoot. Slicing them apart with his knife. Burning them alive on his stove. It would be so easy⌠The human gripped the scorching panâŚ
âSure fluffy, here you go.â The human said, a smile spreading across his face.
He picked a few strands out of the pan and handed them to the fluffy, feeding it by hand. The fluffy voraciously devoured the sketties as he was fed them, and cooed softly as the human scratched his head.
âFank ou fow gif bestest skettie nums nice mistah!â
The other fluffies began filtering out of the nest, all begging for the same thing.
âPweeze gif nummies! Babbehs haf wowstest tummy owwies! Neeâ nummies soon ow gon haf foevah sweepies!â
âPweeze nice mistah! Babbehs neeâ miwkies! Neeâ nummies!â
âPweeze mistah! Su hungwy! Huu huu huu!â
As the pleading fluffies began to surround him, the smarty finally emerged from the nest. Strutting up to the human, he issued his demands.
âHewd need nummies! Dummeh hoomin gif sketties ow smawty gif wowstest sowwy hoovsies!â
âWell, I donât know if I can give the whole herd sketties⌠But if youâre willing to exchange something valuable, Iâll part with my delicious skettiesâŚâ
The smarty snorted.
âNU! Dummeh hoomin gif sketties NAO! Bestest hewd neeâ bestest nummies! Gif sketties now ow get foevah sweepies!â
âNah.â
The human scooped up his things with surprising speed, save for the cameras, and walked out of the alleyway, leaving the fluffies stunned and alone. A few seconds passâŚ
âHuuu⌠Wanned skettiesâŚâ
âWhy nice mistah weave? Babbeh neeâ nummies! Huu huu huu!â
âWhy smawty fwen scawe nice mistah 'way? Huuu huu!â
âShaddup! Dummeh hewd nu neeâ sketties anyway! Pwobabwy owwie nummies too! Hoomins nevah gif sketties!â
âBuh hoomin gif fwuffy sketties! An gud scratchies too!â
âHuu⌠Wan nice mistah backâŚâ
âSHADDUP! Dummeh fwuffy nu shud haf nummed dummeh hoomin nummies. May haf sickies nao!â
âWHA!? Nu wan fowevah sweepies! Huu huu huuu! Nu wan! Nu wan! Nuu huu huuuuu!â
The fluffies reeled back in fear, realizing now what their hunger could have cost them, they resigned themselves to the hunger and chill of the nest.
But the poisoning never came to pass. The rest of the day passed without incident, and the blue fluffy was utterly fine. Better in fact, since he had been fed. This did not escape the notice of the other fluffies.
As the morning of the next day began, many began regretting the loss of the nice mister and his spaghetti. All of them wished that they had gone out as well. Hunger was omnipresent. The younger foals whimpered and chirped as they sucked in vain on dry milkie places. The older foals sat up, crying and clutching their aching stomachs. Their tears were daggers to the hearts of their starving mothers. Just another burden on the shoulders of the ferals.
âWhy mummah? Why weave housie? Wan daddeh back!â
"Huu huu⌠Mummah towd ou babbeh. Daddeh take mummah to vet and twy huwt babbeh pwace! Was gon be nu nyu babbehs!
âBuh mummah nu hab nyu babbehs anyway! An nu nummies fo nyu babbehs! Nu nummies fow babbehs! Wan housie 'gain! Wan wawm 'gain! Huu huu!â
âMummah sowwy babbeh! Mummah nu knu bout cowd times! Nu can finâ daddeh ow housie anymowe. Haf to wive wif hewd to pwotect babbehs!â
âBuh nu pwotect babbehs! Bwuddah an sissy haf foebah sweepies! Babbeh haf wowstest tummy huwties! Huu huu huuuuu!â
âMummah su sowwy babbeh! Huuhuuhuhuuuuu!â
The mare crumpled into tears. She knew that the suffering and death of her foals was of her own making. Now, they were trapped in a terrible situation that would surely lead to their deaths. She wished that she had never left her daddy. That she had just stayed in her warm house and lived with her three babbehs instead of running away. She dreamed that she would be the best mummah and have all the babbehs and happies in the world once she left, but the cruelty of the streets was beyond anything she could have ever imagined. All she had experienced until now was suffering, hunger, misery and sadness. And now, because of her foolishness, she was trapped in this tiny pile of trash, starving to death. Watching her little babbehs grow thin and weak, and eventually die, one by one. Her own personal hell.
The others werenât so lucky. Most of them never had owners, and had lived in the suffering and misery of feral life since the beginning. Most of them were the sole survivors of their litters, the others taken by starvation, or accidents, or predators. Some had babbehs of their own, and had learned the anguish of fluffy parenthood. Entire litters were destroyed because of one careless decision, or one moment of inattentiveness. Others were taken by predators, wild cats and dogs would simply walk into the defenseless burrows at night and take foals away to be eaten. Mares would often awake to find only a few drops of blood where their babbehs used to be. Birds would simply swoop down and snatch the foals right off the mareâs backs. Usually flying up to a nearby perch to eat them in full view of their hysterical mothers. They liked to eat the eyes.
What was the solution to all this? More babbehs. Babbehs make everything better. And of course, one you have more babbehs, you had more babbehs to lose too. The cycle continued like this. An eternal circle of brief joy and crushing misery. Until something finally killed them too.
But perhaps sometimes, things could relent? It didnât seem likely. A fluffy carried a dead foal out of the den. It was emaciated and would soon be rotting. He puts it down outside the nest, then goes back in to get the second dead foal. The bawling mother was being hugged by a number of bony fluffies as her babbehs were disposed of. Her short motherhood it would seem, had come to an end. Perhaps for the last time.
As the fluffy carried the second foal to itâs final resting place, he saw an unbelievable sight. The mister was back! With more sketties! The fluffies all quickly filed out and began begging, desperate for food. Desperate to not experience any more bereavement.
âWow, you all look really hungry! Iâm not sure Iâll be able to feed all of youâŚâ
âPweeze nice mistah! Fwuffies neeâ nummies!â
The smarty joined them as well, prepared to ruin their chances at food today too.
âDummeh hoomin gif sketties! Nu wun way dis time!â
âI guess Iâd better goâŚâ
âNu! Nu gu way! Pweeze nice mistah! Need nummies!â A different fluffy cried.
âNu scawe way nice mistah smawty fwen! Pweeze!â Said another.
The human looked at the smarty expectantly. The smarty looked at the other fluffies angrily. But was beginning to relent. After all, itâs not like heâd had any nummies either. Even the bestest smarty needs to eatâŚ
âI could share all of my delicous sketties⌠Or I could leave again. Whatâs it going to be fluffies?â
âWan sketties! Wan sketties!â yelled a fluffy.
âDummeh hoomin shawe sketties den!â said the smarty.
âWell, thatâs a good idea, but I need something from you first.â
The smarty growled. âWha?â
âI need⌠A babbeh.â
âHoomin wan babbeh? Hoomin be nyu daddeh fow babbeh?â
âOhoho no, I need a babbeh so that I can hurt it and kill it.â
A silence fell over the herd. All of them were looking at each other fearfully, wondering if they had misjudged the giant before them. Maybe he wasnât a nice mister, maybe⌠He was a monster!
âNU! Dummeh hoomin nu huwt babbehs! Gif sketties!â
âSorry, I canât give you sketties unless I give a babbeh worstest owwies and forever sleepies first. Thatâs how alley cam works.â
âWha? Was awwey cam?â
âItâs the special thing that lets me come into your alley and give you all sketties! I can feed you all the tastiest skettie nummies ever, but only as long as I hurt babbehs when I do it.â
The herd is muttering amongst themselves. Theyâre all afraid.
âBut⌠Given your situation, I donât think thatâs a problem, since if you donât get nummies soon, all of you will die anyways!â
The smarty was silent. He knew it was true. If the herd didnât get nummies soon, they would die, and then saving one babbeh wouldnât matter. On the other hand, he could sacrifice one babbeh, and the entire herd would get to live and eat the bestest skettie nummies ever. Most importantly, he was hungry. The choice was obvious.
âWhat babbeh hoomin wan?â
âNuuuuuuu! Nu huwt babbehs! Pweeze smawty!â Cried one of the mares!
âSHADDUP! If fwuffies nu hab nummies soon, den aww babbehs an fwuffies gon have foebah sweepies! Neeâ nummies!â
âNuu huu huuu!â
âGood choice. Now I donât need any particular babbeh this time. Just bring me any old one, as long as itâs alive.â
The smarty turned to face the mares. They all shrunk away. Some screamed and curled up around their foals, others hugged them close and looked at the smarty fearfully. It was a nice display, but mostly for show. Truth was, it was obvious who was going to lose their foal.
The smarty walked up to the brown mare.
âUgwy poopie mawe gif babbeh!â
âNU! Nu huwt babbeh! Pweeze smawty-â
bap
âOwwies!â
âShaddup! Dummeh poopie mawe gif babbeh NAO!â
The smarty rained down more blows on the mare, causing her to curl up under the assault.
âHow about this one?â the human asked, holding up a chirping and coughing foal.
âYus, take dat babbeh an gif sketties!â
âNUUUUUUU! PWEEZE NU HUWT BABBEH! BABBEH AM ONWY WITTWE BABBEH! NU HUWTY! NUU HUU HUUUUU!â
âSHADDUP! DUMMEH FWUFFY SHADDUP NAO!â
Giving up on his original plan to bully the mare into killing itâs child, the smarty had begun simply beating the mare ferociously. The mare was alternating between running from the smarty and trying to get back to her foal. Soon the toughie joined in on the assault. The human watched for a few minutes until eventually, the smarty and his remaining toughie had successfully beaten the screaming mare into submission.
âGood job guys! Beating the shit out of that innocent mare for trying to save her baby! Youâre the best fluffies ever.â He said with a laugh.
âNow, Iâm going to give this foal the âworstest owwiesâ ever, but I need all of you to watch, okay? If the whole herd isnât watching, it wonât work, and I wonât be able to give you all tasty sketties! Alright?â
A number of huus and the occasional ânu wanâ was heard from the fearful herd.
âHewd wiww watch, dummeh hoomin huwwy up an gif sketties!â
âYou got it champ.â
The human took out an electric carving knife, and turned it on. The loud buzzing startled the herd, but the near-death foal was unresponsive. That all changed once the knife met itâs flesh.
Gripping the foal by the mane, the man held the knife up to the foalâs hindquarters, and pulled the miniaturized saw upwards through itâs lower body. The once silent foal was now alive with agony, screaming as the teeth ripped through itâs flesh and bone without mercy.
âSCREEEEEEEEEEE!â
âNUUUUHUUUHUUUUUUU! PWEEZE NU HUWT BABBEH!!! NUUUUUUUUUUU!â Screamed the mare, as she watched her precious babbeh being slowly torn in half by the unfeeling machine.
âSHADDUP! NAO! DUMMEH MAWE SHADDUP NAO!!!â Screamed the smarty. He began beating her again, his rain of blows going almost unnoticed by the immobilized mare, who screamed for her dying foal the entire time.
The toughie didnât join in this time. He was transfixed on the sacrifice, along with the rest of the herd. Besides the smarty, every fluffy and every babbeh was paralyzed with horror as they watched the act of merciless torture play out in front of them. The foalâs screams intensified as the saw made itâs way through more of itâs body, reaching their apex as the machine tore all the way through itâs intestines. The screams died down into gurgles as the saw ripped into the foalâs lungs, from the bottom to the top of the lung, the foal was nearly quiet, itâs face twisted into an almost silent scream as the knife finally cut through itâs shoulder bones. The right half of the foal fell free, dropping to the ground along with most of the foals destroyed intestines. The human dropped the foal on the ground. It gasped as it tried desperately to pull itself in the direction of itâs mother with itâs two remaining hooves, leaving a trail of blood and viscera behind it. It only made it about an inch before gagging, spasming, and finally dying.
âNU!!! NUUUUUUUUUUU!!! BABBEH!!! BABBEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEH!!! SCREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!â
The mare finally wrestled herself free of the smarty and rushed to the aid of her babbeh. Too late of course, her foal was dead. She picked up the bloody remains of her bisected foal, screaming and desperately trying to hug it back to life. The herd was silent, staring at the mangled foal and bereaved mare in shock and horror.
âDummeh hoomin gif sketties NAO!â Yelled the smarty, unfazed by the sight before him.
âWell, some of you were closing your eyes, but Iâll overlook that this time. A dealâs a deal.â
The human took the spaghetti off the pan and started shoveling it into the bowls. There were just enough bowls of pasta to feed the entire herd. For a day. When the human finished organizing the sketti, the smarty rose to his feet, triumphantly strutting forth to claim his hard earned prize.
He was met with a hand slamming down in front of him, blocking his way.
âThe mare eats first.â
âWha!? Nu! Dummeh ugwy poopie mawe nu get sketties! Smawty an toughie fwens get nummies fiwst!â
âSorry, those are the rules of alleycam. Nobody eats until the donor finishes eating. No rushing them either.â
âDUMME-â
âYes yes, dummy human give sketties now. Look. These are the rules of alleycam. Alleycam is the only reason youâre getting sketties in the first place. If you break the rules, no sketties. Thatâs how it works. If you donât like it, Iâm sure another herd would love to have your sketties.â
The smarty was infuriated with this new development. He glanced at the crying mare, still clutching the ruined remains of her foal, then back at the human, who looked completely ready to leave again. He was furious, but he was hungry. And all he had to do was wait, and he would get sketties! The bestest nummies ever! As angry as he was, the correct choice was obvious. Even to a smarty.
âFine! Dummeh poopie mawe num sketties fiwst! Nao gif sketties!â
âGood.â
The human walked over to the mare with the bowls, placing one down in front of the bereaved fluffy.
âCongratulations mummah! Your selfless sacrifice of your innocent babbeh has secured the survival of your fellow shitrats! And guess what your reward is! Thatâs right! Sketties! Yaaaay!â
âUHUUHUUHUUUUU! Nu wan sketties! Wan babbeh back! Why gif babbeh foebah sweepies!? Why huwt babbeh!? Huuhuuhuuuuu!â
The mare ignored the bowl of spaghetti in front of her, clinging tightly to her dead foal and crying.
âBabbeh! Huuhuuhuuu! BABBEEEEEH!â
âYou should consider yourself lucky fluffy.â
The mare, surprised by the new darkness in the humanâs voice, raised her head to meet the eyes of the human.
âThe price for all the other fluffies is going to be much higher than one dying shitrat. You were lucky to be the first. Now you wont lose anymore than you already have. So eat the damned sketties so we can get on with the show.â
âN- Nu! Nu wan meanie sketties! Gu way!â
âDummeh poopie mawe num bestest sketties NAO!â Screamed the smarty. He didnât think that was a sentence he would ever say. Strange times these wereâŚ
âWhy fwuffy nu num sketties? Babbeh haf tummeh huwties!â Yelled a yellow foal. It looked almost emaciated.
âI donât think youâre in a position to refuse. The other fluffies want to eat too. Not to mention, your own babies are looking pretty lean there. They need milk. I donât think I need to tell you what happens they donât get itâŚâ
The mare looked over to her terrified foals. The cold bit like a knife into their tiny forms. They barely had the energy left to shiver. They needed food.
âHuuuuuuuu! Mummah num! Mummah wiww num sketties! Huu huu huuuu!â
She placed her foal on the ground gently, and went over to the bowl. The bowl was filled to the brim with piping hot spaghetti and meat sauce. The ultimate dream of any feral fluffy. Utterly unattainable. Not even the smartest smarty or the toughest toughie could ever hope to taste sketties. It was a luxury reserved only for fluffies with owners. Fluffies with housies and with mummahs or daddehs that loved them. Unwanted and unloved ferals that were raised on a diet of trash and viewed as pests by society had had no chance. That went double for ungrateful and arrogant runaways that had everything and blew it because they thought they knew better. It simply didnât happen.
Well, perhaps it did. But always at the price of a fluffyâs life. Exterminators, disgruntled buisness owners, even lazy abusers would leave plates of poisoned spaghetti out for stray fluffies. After the first slew of horrible deaths, the fluffies learned that to eat stray sketties was to accept death. Any fluffy with a brain avoided them at all costs. The sight and the aroma only serving to torture the starving creatures. The ruinous thought of âWhat if these sketties are safe?â only held at bay by the horrific memories of friends and family succumbing to the poisoned treat.
There were those who ate them anyways of course. Arrogant smarties so far along the syndrome that they thought nothing could hurt them anymore, desperate ferals on the verge of death who would rather die with a stomach full of sketties than nothing at all, broken runaways who couldnât take a life of constant fear, loss and misery any longer, and chose to take one last taste of the life theyâd squandered before ending their suffering for good. All soon regretted their choices as the cheap poison slowly killed them from the inside. Their bodies spasming, spurting and breaking down painfully as the toxin ate them away. The only thing left was their disgorged corpses, surrounded by their fluids, their little fluffy faces twisted in agony, frozen in their last moments of suffering. The seductive pasta left half-eaten.
But here they were! Sketties! And they were completely safe! A tiny bowl of cheap pasta, bought with the unimaginable suffering and death of a little fluffy babbeh. Considering that usually happened for free, It was a stealâŚ
She took a sniff, then a bite, then more bites, then began gorging herself. As her mind filled with a haze of joy at having finally tasted the fabled sketties, a thing that a feral fluffy like her should never have a chance at experiencing, it was sharply undercut by the rising guilt that ate away at her stomach. The delicious sketties, bought at the expense of her beloved babbeh.
âHuu huu huu. Wub skettiesâŚâ she said, tears running down her fluff, as she finished the bowl, licking it clean of every last drop of sauce.
âGood fluffy.â The human said, patting her on the head.
âGud! Dummeh poopie mawe take tu wong! Nao, smawty num-â
The human put out all the remaining bowls of spaghetti.
âAlright everyone! Dig in!â
The smarty was immediately inundated with a tide of rushing fluff. The starving fluffies paid him no heed, eagerly gorging themselves on the legendary nummies.
âDummeh fwuffies⌠Why toughie⌠EEEEEEEEE!â The smarty roared.
He spent a few seconds with his cheeks puffed at his herd, but as he saw the sketti begin to dissapear, he too rushed towards the food, joining the struggle for sketties.
The mare laid on the ground, foal in her front legs, face on itâs corpse, crying and apologizing. The man took a hidden camera and set it up inside the burrow while the fluffies were distracted. Then he began to download the footage from the cameras already placed. Satisfied with his work, he gathered up all his supplies, and started towards the mouth of the alleyway. Before he left, he turned to the fluffies.
âRemember fluffies, alleycam needs a sacrifice! Iâll be back soon with more sketti, but next time, Iâll want more!â
He rolled the storage device around in his hand, thinking about how popular the new show was going to be.
âI wonder how much youâre all willing to sacrificeâŚâ
Yes, I know it isnât soylent brown, sorry about that. Itâs a busy time for me and I probably wont be done with it until next week. Donât worry, theres at least a part or two left of that.
Alleycam is gonna be a series too. Itâll probably have two or three more installments. Iâll also see about getting back to my first thing. the sunshine mills story or whatever. Hannah still needs to find out the truth.
Hope you liked it. Leave a comment too. I live for those.