Is your fluffy just plain rambunctious? Tired of expensive training classes that don’t ever seem to stick? Hasbio is back with another invention to revolutionize your biotoy experience: The Sunshine Program! With a simple medical procedure that can be done at any vets office, your fluffy will have a tiny, simple computer affixed to it’s brain. Say ‘goodbye’ to bad poopies and unruly backtalk! Your family will never even know it’s there but they’ll all be thrilled with the results! BUY TODAY!
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“Teehee! Wub pwayin’ and habin’ wots ob funsies!” Tinker was a blue talkie babbeh who was all about espowin’ and getting into all sorts of trouble. His owners were a very strict elderly couple and their granddaughter, and it was almost the bestest ever day of all: Cwismas! Everyone had gone to sleep but not Tinker, no no. Slyly sneaking out of the arms of Angel, the little girl who claimed primary care over him, Tinker hopped down from the bed onto a pile of stuffed toys.
“Am goan pway wif pwesents ‘n and hab suuuu funsies.” Sneaking down the hallway, he tip-tapped into the living room where the Christmas tree was set up. Beautiful to the foal, it was bedecked with lots of shiny silver stuff and twinkling lights. There was even popcorn around the branches! Lots of glass baubles! Under the tree were lots of presents wrapped up nice and pretty. Getting a ribbon in his mouth, he tugged it off a box and went running around the room with it.
The ribbon was fun but there was lots of paper to rip up, so he did so. All the pretty paper got clenched in his mouth, tore off with satisfying riiiiippppss. So crinkly! Squishing his hooves down on it, he was having so much fun. Too much fun to even notice the fact that poopies were coming right out and he was stepping around in it. Every single package he came across was covered with the stinky stuff left in splotchy hoofprints. That new dress Angel’s grandmother was sure she’d love? That was something which he especially had interest in because it was so soft and felt good to stamp around on.
“Nummies!” Taking a strand of popcorn and tugging it, it didn’t seem like it wanted to come off. Grunting and pulling would make the tree tipple-topple, ornaments shaking with small jingling sounds. He might be small but the tree sure as heck wasn’t sturdy, eventually coming crashing down with a shattering of baubles and countless ornaments (likely which had been in the family for ages), breaking.
The tree was on top of Tinker but it hadn’t hurt him. Struggling under the plastic branches, he popped up above the top and began numming down along the strands of popcorn. Eventually he’d eaten it all though and was feeling like he wanted to make poopies again. Suuuu sleepy too. Resting on top of the tree, he yawned and pooped right where he laid. Cwismas was suuuuu fun.
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Cwismas was not fun anymore. There was lots of yelling, and Tinker sat all alone in a tiny travel kennel. Only kibble, wawa, and a litterbox in it.
“He’s my baby! He didn’t mean to do it! Why are you being so mean to him!?” Angel asked her grandfather. Tinker didn’t hate him, and he understood after all the yelling that he’d been a bad boy. His name was Henry and by all accounts he was usually a gentle but stern man, one with a bald head and a big bushy grey mustache.
Henry had said he wouldn’t sorry-stick Tinker, wouldn’t do anything bad, but that he would likely have to go to a shelter. What was a shelter? Tinker didn’t know but by the sound of Angel crying, it couldn’t be a good place. A meanie place. Squishing against the bars, he wished he could go out and give his owner a big hug to make the tears go away.
“Tinkeh su sowwy! Nu mean tu be bad boy! Am bein’ espowin’ babbeh!” He pleaded, hoping they didn’t think he was really a bad boy. Sure he’d been really bad but really, he was still just a babbeh. Nobody came to see him though, and this caused him to collapse against the floor of the kennel and nose at the bars.
He didn’t want to go to a meanie place. Didn’t they know he had lots of wub for them? They were the only thing he knew. The thought about having to leave them made the foal curl up and miserably weep.
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It turned out that Tinker didn’t have to go to the shelter! Instead he was being brought to the fluffy vet. Though he was still young, he’d been there before. It was kind of a scawy place but if it meant being able to come out of the travel kennel and prove he was a good boy, he’d do it.
Henry brought him, kennel and all, into the vet’s office. The place was mostly empty, though there was a television with FluffTV on. It’d been a long time since the fluffy had immersed him into the wonderful world of media so his brain was transfixed on it like magic.
“You’re here for the Sunshine Program, aren’t you? Don’t worry, it’ll be done and over with in fifteen minutes.” The kind woman who served as the receptionist gently took the kennel that Tinker was in, Henry seeming surprised at this.
“…Fifteen minutes for a brain surgery? No recovery time?” Tinker attempted to try and keep looking at the television but it was super hard.
The receptionist gave Henry a quizzical smile. “Their brains are simple! No need to think too much about it.”
How could he not? The old feller rubbed at his chin for a moment before going to the seating area, sinking down with a groan. Meanwhile, Tinker was brought back to one of the doctor’s offices. Clicking the cage open, she let the foal out on a big paper wrapped bed. Eagerly stepping out, this was the first time that he’d been outside in forever!
“Dank yew nice mummah! Teehee…wub!” Getting up on his back hooves, he did the bestest dancie he could manage. The receptionist gave his head a rub with one finger.
“The doctor will be with you soon.” Was all she said before leaving him alone. Fluffies weren’t exactly known for their patience but there was no way he was going to misbehave and disappoint everyone again. Plopping down on the bed with a crinkle of paper, he looked around the room. Wooden tongue depressors. Neatly folded towels. A mysterious red bin. The mural on the wall was interesting: It showed skettis and this greatly pleased him.
Dr Pickens walked into the room and Tinker immediately felt relaxed around him. He was a man that had a grey mustache just like daddeh, kindly blue eyes, and a patient smile. Also he’d met the fluffy before and made a good impression by using a hand-puppet to give him huggies.
“Hello again, Tinker. I’ve heard you’ve been a naughty boy lately.” The vet held something behind his back, going to move to Tinker’s side. Giving a shy smile, Tinker waggled his tail.
“Tinkeh am sowwy ‘fo badsies. Nu am do abin.” Oh…Dr. Pickens knew that he wouldn’t. While the foal was distracted, a syringe poked into his rump and injected him with some of the good sleepytime medicine.
Giving a jolt and a small ‘owwies!’, Tinker looked up to the vet pathetically. Already though his muscles were growing weak and his eyelids were getting heavy. Sweepy. He’d just have to lay his head down and take a nap. That was all.
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When Tinker’s eyes opened, he gave a squawk of surprise. In a voice that he couldn’t recognize as his own. Even the hooves he looked down at were different. This was the same vet’s office, he was sure of that. Objects had been moved around, but it had the same shape and general air about it. There was even the sketti mural on the wall to confirm this, though it had faded considerably.
His body felt strangely, well, BIG compared to when he’d last been awake. On the paper wrapped bed, he experimented with walking around. It was clumsy and he’d trip over his own hoof and fall down with a small squeak.
What was going on? He had the wowstest scawdies. Like maybe this was a bad dream but it felt too real. There was nobody around to ask, either.
“Hewwo!? Fwuffy am hewe! When am be gud boy!?” He asked, thinking the operation hadn’t happened yet. There was no immediate answer which only caused him to give a low groan of fear.
Eventually, though, Dr Pickens entered the room. That was the same vet but even he looked different. The man seemed slightly more aged and was in a completely different outfit than when Tinker had last seen him. Pushing back up against the bed in his clumsy ‘new’ body, the foal in a stallion’s body looked to him for reassurance.
“Hello, Tinker. How nice to see you again. It’s been the shortest two years for you, hasn’t it?” Fluffies, of course, had no metric of the span of time. Tinker just gave him a quizzical expression.
“Two years are very many ‘bright times’. But you don’t remember a thing, do you?” Of course he didn’t. See, the vet could be the sweetest man imaginable when fluffies had the ability to actually complain about him. This wasn’t one of those circumstances.
“The Sunshine Program…what made you into a ‘good boy’ has two parameters. Full and limited. Limited would only prod you into acceptable behaviors but have you largely in control. Full.” Leaning forward to flick Tinker’s nose and send him back against the bed with a small squirt of piddle. “Means you’re not in there. You’re just a machine at that point.”
Tinker, of course, understood none of this. Of course not. He was just supposed to be a gud boy and have a happy life. Pickens gave a rather greasy smile, turned to a small photo album. “Your owners send me photographs all the time. I’m such a great doctor and I love to see your antics.” Pressing the photo album to Tinker, he flipped open a few pages. That was Tinker and Angel! He’d seen himself in a mirror and knew what he looked like, but he was seeing things that had never happened. Them at a park they’d never gone to, him sitting patiently by his very few birthday cake, a bigger fluffy that looked just like him at Cwismas. The different photographs made Tinker’s stomach lurch, his brain hurt. These memories didn’t exist. To him, they’d never happened of course.
“Nice mistah, pwease hewp fwuffy. Dun know wat am happen!” He teared up. All he’d done was gone to sleep and now he didn’t remember what happened.
Pickens gave him another nasty smile. “Oh you’ll be getting all the help you need. An upgrade. See you in a few years, Tinker.”
A needle pricked at his backside. This caused him to freak out and scrabble his hooves, attempting to jump right off the table. Pickens caught him by the scruff of his mane and held him, eye level, as the sleepies start to rock through his body. The only thing he could do was give scaredy poopies to the floor. No matter what, he didn’t want to go to sleep. Not again. He wanted to remember what happened. Sleep was bad, but eventually his eyelids fluttered down and he was snoring.
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Tinker woke up in an unfamiliar bed, an unfamiliar room. There were sounds that didn’t belong, the shadows along the wall were long and foreign to him. What was going on? He was no longer at the doctors?
There was something he only vaguely recognized. It was his mummah, Angel. Her scent was there, but even that was different. Still familiar enough to him though. Something to grab onto.
“Mummah! MUMMAH! HEWP FWUFFY! FWUFFY NU AM MEMBA!” This wasn’t a bad dream. It couldn’t be. When he had bad dreams sometimes they included stuff like a munstah in the closet, or being told that sketti day was cancelled. Angel mumbled something in her sleep, stirred and sat up in her bed.
His eyes had adjusted to the darkness well enough to see that this was not his mummah. Much bigger than his mummah was, with a different hairstyle and even a different sounding voice.
“Tinker, it’s just a bad dream. Shhhh. Go to bed.” Something which she never even thought about was this: He’d never had bad dreams since his operation. In fact? He never did ANYTHING that seemed negative. It had been three years since the Christmas incident and ever since, Tinker had been nothing but good and cooperative. Grabbing the fluffy up and snugging him against her chest, he wanted to continue freaking out. His mind began to relax. Everything did. It felt like being lulled to sleep. Eventually his body had sleepies, but he was still thinking. That none of this made sense. It was all so convoluted. Even that ebbed away after awhile.
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The next time his eyes opened, he found himself back in the vet’s office. This time it was really changed. Considering it had faded so much over time, the sketti mural had been changed to one of a purple and green chirpy both being hugged lovingly by it’s mummah. Objects were rearranged around the place. The bed he’d woken up before was now closer to the door, for example.
Seeing everything so familiar yet subtly alien made him lurch, squeeze his eyes shut, throw up a slurry of kibble right on the bed he was on. This was horrible. Not a bad dream. This was way too complex for anything a fluffy could think of.
Door opening, Dr Pickens would walk in. Definitely older. It was not the same man that Tinker was used to. His mustache was thinned out and crinkles were around his eyes. There were spots on the back of his hands. Trembling and squeezing down to the bed, Tinker began crying helplessly.
“Four years! You’ve got a special friend, babies, the whole nine yards. But you don’t remember, do you? It’s all just black for you, isn’t it?” The doctor gave one of his meanie smiles and Tinker just shook his head furiously.
“Nu-nu-nu-nu! Nu put babbeh tu sweep abin! Stawp! Dun gib meanie sweepies! Wan memba! Pwease!” A special friend? Babbehs? He didn’t even know HOW babbehs were made because…because he was still one himself.
“Shh. This is the last upgrade. The Sunshine Program is being discontinued. You’ll figure out why later.” Pickens place a hand against Tinker’s mane, held him in place. Giving a hopeful smile, the stallion looked up with bright eyes.
“Wast time? Weawwy? Teehee…yay!” Yup. The last time. All of the lawsuits were beginning to pile up against Hasbio for this last one. His family didn’t know that though.
“Goodnight, Tinker.” The needle sank into his rear once last time and he didn’t even try to fight it. If this was the last time, then that was good. It meant that everything was over, right? Everything could go back to how it was before. He’d finally be able to remember.
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Eyes fluttering open, the first thing that Tinker noticed was of course the pain. Searing pain in his think-place. Eyes bleary, hardly able to see, he looked around the room. It was the same living room where he’d knocked down the Christmas tree but everything had been rearranged, along with there being new furniture.
He couldn’t move his weggies and looking down to them horrified the fluffy. They were withered and grey, patches of fur missing from each.
“Huwties…su many huwties…” It felt like someone was squeezing down on his skull. As if his eyeballs were forcibly trying to exit his skull. A stink of poopies was heavy in the air and with mounting disgust he realized why: He was sat in a pile of them.
“EEEEE! HEWP BABBEH! NEE’ HEWP!” This hurt so badly, and there was the fear again. A fear that he wouldn’t remember anything. Angel walked into the room, a pill bottle in one hand. Much bigger than he remembered seeing her, but she was still his mummah. It gave his heart bigges’ happies to see her.
“Pwease gib huggies, mummah. Su many huwties. Tinkeh omwy wittew babbeh.” Angel got the bottle of pills open, placed one into his mouth. It was grape flavored and he thought it was a sweetie treat, numming on it with a morose expression. A hug followed it and she’d get out some wet wipes to begin cleaning the fluffy up.
She really loved him, but things were getting bad. The thing put into his brain was killing him. Big news, really. All over the place. Parts of the computer leeched out toxic heavy metals and, well…this is the result. Their programming failed and their health would immediately begin to suffer as a result. Becoming bedridden, unable to eat solid foods after awhile, existing in immense pain. That’s all they had.
Getting down on her knees, she gave her pal a hug. Cuddled against him. Tears dripped from above, pattering on top of his head. “Grandpa says we’ll have to put you to sleep soon.” Not grandma. No, she’d passed during the time that had passed.
“N-Nu…nu put babbeh tu sweepsies…nuuu-huuu….!” He wanted to ‘memba. Not go to sleep again. Everything hurt so bad but he didn’t want to do that. Anything else! No! NO NO NO!
“It’s for the best. You think you’re a baby again, you can’t walk, you hurt a lot. I’m sorry, Tinker. We made lots of happy memories though.”
Did they? No. They didn’t. Tinker couldn’t remember.
“Dun gib sweepies tu fwuffy. Fwuffy wub yew! Nu mowe huwties! NUUU! WIWW BE GUD BOY! PWEASE!” If he could, he’d have waggled his front legs out at her with desperation. Angel gave his spine a gentle pat and got up. His brain was clearly breaking down. Thinking things, saying things that weren’t true. They’d had lots of years together and now all he thought was, he was still a baby. That was sad.
“MUMMAH! MUMMMAAHHHH!” Tinker begged, screamed at the top of his lungs. It hurt too much to do for long though. Eventually he bent his head and began crying. If he could remember, maybe he wouldn’t have to go to sleep. Maybe mummah would love him again.
No matter how hard he tried, though? He couldn’t. Those years weren’t just lost: They’d never been experienced by him in the first place. A computer program had all the fun, gotten all the wub, and stolen everything.
