You are Dr. Harriet Roseman, and you are so very excited! You have a feeling those fluffies in you backyard will be gone soon.
“FV-0446, you there? Say something into the microphere in you can hear me.” You speak into a small tablet, clutching it in your hands as you wait for a response.
“Es! Hewe! Eff-vee-zewo-fouw-fouw-siks am hewe! Gib fwuffy’s cewws bestest huggies fo’ nyew fwiends!” It answered gleefully, laughter as the background noise.
“Good, but you need to start “playing” with your friends in your “housie-friend” by tommorow.” You warn, about to turn on the camera to see what it’s doing.
“Eff-vee-zewo-fouw-fouw-siks hab ques-ion. Can p’ease hab bay-bees?” It asks, sounding hopeful for your potential answer.
“Of course! But, you’ll need some “pokie-hurties” to do it.” You say, looking around for the fluffy it’s currently in.
“Nu wan pokie-huwties, bu’ wan bay-bees. Oh-tay, gib pokies.” It decides, making the fluffy vomit it out as you scoop it back into its tube.
You are FV-0446, and you are soo happy! Your “mom-mee” is sooo nice! She’s letting you have babies!
“Huwties! Owwies!” You cry out, flailing your psuedo-arms-and-legs in the tube.
“Don’t move, I’m getting some of the pieces used to make you to make you… a soon-mommy, just like mommy was at one point.” You say, injecting it with the “babies” you made for it.
“Huwties! Bu’, wai hab wewid feewwing inside sewf?” You ask, touching your outer layer of yourself gently, avoiding the “pokie-hurties hole” mommy left in you.
You are a fluffy! You feel really sick. You feel so sick, you might go forever sleepies.
“Kaff! Kaff! Smawty gone, and babbehs nee’ daddeh! Wai smawty hab gu foweba-sweepies?” You cry.
“Chirp! Peep, peep! Chirp!” One of your babies peeps for milkies as you settle it on your milkie-places.
“Babbeh, mummah sowwy. Sickies make mummah hab nu miwkies.” You sigh, taking the baby off your milkie-places and laying down.
“Kaff! Kaff! Kaff! Blegh! Poopie fwuffy, cum gib wickie-cweans tu gwound. Make sickie-wawa.” You demand, motioning towards one of your herd members.
“Oh-tay… Gib wickie-cweans…” The poopie-fluffy sighs, starting to lick your vomit off the ground.
“Gud! Nyow, watch babbehs. Mummah sweepy… Nee’ sweep.” You say, closing your eyes and sleeping.
You would never wake up.
News Network 23: 12:05 PM
You are Dr. Harriet Roseman, and you’re watching the news.
“This just in: Unknown cause killed 34 feral fluffies today. Researchers still don’t know what it is, but are assuming it’s a new disease. Please keep your house fluffies away from ferals, as we don’t know if it’s contagious.” The news-caster says, speaking into their microphone.
“Mom-mee? Wha am dat?” FV-0446 asks quietly, still touching its injection site.
“You’re on TV! Such a good little baby virus. Now, about those babies you’re going to be having.” You begin, sitting its tube next to you.
“First rule, you have to share a “tube-housie” with your babies, since mommy don’t have any more tubes. Second rule, mommy has to teach your babies how to be good babies. You were made a good baby, that’s why you don’t have to learn with them.” You continue.
“Third rule, mommy gets to take all but one of your babies once they’re big for… research. That’s all the rules! Now, you have to be careful about housie-friends now that you have… inside-babies.” You warn, scooping the tube up and proceed to force-feed the contents to another fluffy.
“Nu wan! Nu wan!” The fluffy screams, muffled by you holding its mouth open.
“Drink it! Drink it, shitrat!” You yell, putting the opening of the tube into the fluffy’s mouth.
“Nu! Nu-huuu-huuu! Nu wan dwinkies!” It protests, attempting to close its mouth.
You finally did it! Now, just to wait about 4 days. Or less.