Greg frantically held the phone in his hands and thought about what happened to him literally 3 minutes ago. It looks like the range of his interactions with Fluffy will now increase. Much.
HasBio has been suffering huge losses lately. The state is trying to label them a literal terrorist corporation because of the creation of Fluffy, with the caveat that they are called “bio-toys” - being full-fledged animals,
although they are incredibly stupid, helpless animals with muffled instincts, they are trying to grab onto them. More recently, they were given a ban on conducting experiments at special testing sites - allegedly, even experiments on Fluffy could lead to mass infections and other delights of life. But HasBio found a solution - by finding special contractors, they handle all this crap. They recruit breeders, former HasBio employees, and even known abusers. Greg was one of the contractors.
Brooklyn.
Somewhere in a seedy Brooklyn neighborhood, Greg’s car was passing by. While heading to his destination, he simultaneously talked on the phone with HasBio representatives. He was driving to the site of all the experiments that the company would entrust him with. The warehouse is large, converting it to store Fluffy will be quite simple. As soon as Greg arrived at the main building, parked and got out of the car, he walked into the warehouse itself. The old door, standing here since Hoover’s time, barely opened, and after several attempts by Greg to open it, it opened easily, emitting a terrible creak. The building looked shabby. Due to the greater amount of dust in the air, the sun seemed to rush into the windows in a single ray.
“This is where I will fence the pen, this is where they will eat, this is where they shit, this is where they rest, yeah…” Greg mentally distributed the warehouse area for Fluffy’s use.
Suddenly - a rustle. Greg moved, picking up the first piece of iron he could get his hands on. Another series of rustles - he had already pricked up his ears and was ready to fight a crowd of homeless people or something like that. “They handed over this warehouse to me to manage and didn’t even bother to clear it of these “cream of society”? Cool.” After another series of rustling noises, Greg goes deeper into the warehouse straight towards the sound. The warehouse was large, and because of the echo it was difficult to determine the location of the sound source. But Greg got the hang of it and arrived at his destination. He saw… Fluffy. Fluffy the unicorn, bluish in color, was searching the storage rooms with several other Fluffies. In addition to the adult Fluffys, there were also foals playing friendly with them. Noticing the man, the unicorn approaches Greg and assumes a fighting pose.
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dummeh hoomin! smawty wand now! gib smawty nummies and dis wand!
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Oh no. It’s my property, little dude. You’re too young to compete with me, don’t you think? - Greg grinned.
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Gib nummies or smawty gib sowwy-poopies and wowstest huwties fo dummeh mistah hoomin! - Fluffy was so pompous that it looked funny. His low intelligence did not allow him to understand that a person was “slightly” larger than him and the fluffy piece of crap would not be able to resist him.
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Leave, or I’ll have to send you to Skettiland. - Greg held back his laughter.
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smawty nu afwaid skettiwand! smawty smawt! smawty gib dummeh mistah hoomin sowwy poopies and dummeh gib nummehs fo flock! - Fluffy stiffened his position, already preparing to take a shit.
One kick and the smart guy flies several meters away, splashing a mixture of blood and shit across the floor. - hoomin gib smawty wowstest huwties! suu scawy! nu wan! - the whole flock screamed in unison, running away from the warehouse towards the dirty streets of New York. The man and the leader of the pack were left alone. Greg takes Smarty by the scruff of the neck, to which he responds with a laconic “hu-hu-huuuuu”, after which Fluffy flies straight into the wall. Scientists from HasBio took care of their skeleton, and after landing on a solid wall as old as Woodrow Wilson, it coughs up blood and falls to the ground. The final touch is when Greg takes a piece of iron and pierces Smarty with it. Blood gushed from the penetration site. Having finished off the furry creature, Greg returns to clearing out the warehouse. While checking the premises, he finds a door locked with an old lock. One blow from a stone that caught your eye, and the door opened. It led to the basement. The perfect location for Fluffy.
Evening.
Greg arrived home after a difficult separation of areas to store Fluffy there. Terribly tired, he collapses on the sofa and turns on the TV, going to the kitchen for a can of Dr. Pepper soda. Checking his email again, Greg found nothing interesting. The next step was to check Fluffy in the basement of his house. Quietly going there, he discovers only how all Fluffy is sleeping. Except for the unicorn in the sorry box. He sniffled and looked at the ceiling. Having locked the door, Greg returns to the first floor. He needs a good rest - damn, there will be so much work tomorrow with these assholes. Greg goes to the bedroom, closing the door behind him and turning off the lights throughout the house.The morning visit to the warehouse was a success. Finally, he was able to delimit all zones. Places for food and rest were equipped, so were the trays. Greg bought a couple of cheap heaters so Fluffy wouldn’t complain about “nu pwetty cowdies” and die from it. Fluffy will eat from automatic cat feeders - no one guarantees that these stupid people won’t get stuck there and die, but it’s much better than bringing them food and drink every day. In the resting place there is a lot of all sorts of things - toys, labyrinths, pencils and paper for drawing unrelated compositions. Fluffies are social creatures, and without 24 hours a day, which they will spend meaningless pastime in the form of games with plastic toys and their relatives of similar parameters, they will simply die of loneliness. Moreover, loneliness is a flexible concept. Whatever comes into his head will become true - he considers any statement he makes up to be true, because at least some result of the work of their small, incapacitated brain is valued.
All entrances and exits were walled up - no one denies the possibility that a flock of fluffies could get in here and knock up one of the fluffies. There’s TOO MUCH Fluffy in New York. Absolutely everyone is tired of them, they breed like hamsters forced to mate every day, and they are very harmful. Fluffys fall into old heating systems, often breaking something there. Fluffies stop traffic in the city, moving in flocks along the roads and thereby forcing drivers to wrap them around their wheels, sometimes with personal consequences for the person who, in this situation, can drive off to the side of the road, damage the wheels, or even get into an accident.
It’s time to transport Fluffy here. Arriving home, Greg takes out a large station wagon from his car. Entering the basement, he gently takes the fluffy and arranges it in boxes, at the same time explaining to the fluffy that this is not a sorry box and they are just going to play. Hearing the trusting and naive babbling of the baby at his own expense, Greg wraps the boxes with tape, making holes in them so that Fluffy can breathe. Then he goes outside with them, opening the trunk of his car and loading them there. Finally, he closes the trunk and drives to his destination.
We arrived. Greg unloads boxes of Fluffy, placing them in a row in the warehouse lobby. He opens the boxes and takes Fluffy out of there, taking them to the basement - this is where the areas allocated for living and leisure are located. Soon, they all find themselves there, running around the place in disbelief. Where are the other babies? Why are the babies in a different place? However, their bewilderment disappeared after discovering a huge pile of fluffy toys located in the corner of their pen. They begin to play, actively running around the paddock. Greg watches all this, making sure that the place is safe.
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thank u Gweg-Daddeh! Babbeh wuv toys! - one of the kids said cheerfully, while playing with some strange toy.
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Yup. - Greg leaves the warehouse basement, heading towards another equipped place in this warehouse.
Greg outfitted himself with a real new office. Well, like an office. Rest room. There was a heater, an old TV from his garage, a coffee maker and a couple of devices for pacifying Fluffy - sorry, wand and sorry, boxes, so necessary for raising stupid bio-toys. Greg makes himself comfortable, thinking about his next assignments. He should soon receive instructions for his first task as a contractor. In the meantime, Greg turned on the coffee maker and the TV, not forgetting to think about his future from time to time.