My name is Paul Alana and I’m sat at base, that being Hasbio’s Pennsylvania office complex, it’s been a day now since the extermination assignment to the forest Feral nest and things have been quiet. Exterminators get a section of the building for themselves, affectionately called the “Slaughterhouse” by the office’s other occupants, all Hasbio suits who’ve probably never seen a live Feral in person.
I was bored out of my mind, staring at a half finished email to upper management, a report on the team’s performance the previous night. Course I was well on my way to finishing it, but sometimes it’s good to stretch ones legs, keep the brain active so I don’t fuck up anything in the email, y’know? Standing up from my desk I leave my corner office and head into the main Exterminator’s division.
In contrast to the clinical whites and creams of the main office, the Extermination division had darker grey walls with various coloured lines directing the way to every section of the division, orange for armoury, yellow for the gym and medical bay, blue for the break room, and red for the briefing room and work stations.
Turning right I followed the blue line to the break room, unsurprisingly Peter Lynch was in there, running his knife up and down a stick he probably found outside while coming in this morning. “Lynch, try not to overwork yourself.” I comment dryly, Peter looking up at me with that dumb smile of his, “Don’t worry about me boss-man, I’m very familiar with my limits.”
followed by a barely stifled chuckle before he puts his knife away and tosses the carved stick onto the break room table. “While I have ye, how’s the baby factory n’ shit nugget doin’? Doc won’t let me in ta see em, says I’m too ‘unpredictable’ or some shite.”
We had been keeping Cider and the yet unnamed bestest baby from the other night in the medical area attached to the gym. The doctor was a kind but stern lady named Jessie Crown, has limited experience treating people, not that she’s really needed given this is hardly hazardous work aside from the constant stink of shit and blood. But the lady was a magician when it came to Fluffies, you could probably hand her a half crushed foal and she could put everything back together with a sewing needle, string, duct tape, and a bit of spit.
Of course she was also a Hugboxer to her core so the moment she learned about Peter’s diehard Abuser lifestyle she was quick to make it clear he wasn’t to enter the medical bay unless he was actually injured. Do I think Peter would actually hurt any Fluffies we put in there? Probably not, he’s not an idiot as much as he tries to make that out to be the case, can’t really be a true Abuser if you’re not packing anything between the ears.
“Probably best to listen to the doc, she knows her shit.” I respond, trying to match Peter’s casual pace, “Haven’t seen either since I dropped them off at the medical bay last night, I’m probably gonna go check on them after grabbing a drink.” Walking past Peter I open the fridge and grab a diet soda can from inside, breaking the seal with a sharp hiss before taking a few sips, felt good to drink in some weird way even if the aftertaste reminded me of a public pool.
With soda in hand I give Peter a short wave as I can already see him reaching for his knife again as I step out of the break room and start heading to the gym/medical bay.
On the way there however I catch the eye of the Montalvo twins, Miguel and Edwin. “Hey el jefe!” Miguel called out as he and Edwin walked over, cutting me off before I turned the corner to the gym.
Miguel and Edwin were both plenty well built for their ages, comes with the job of course, since their faces were identical they’d taken to styling their hair differently to help tell them apart, Miguel had a skin fade with his fringe swept to the side, while Edwin styled his hair in a slicked back look that extended down to his shoulders looking more like a shady business man’s haircut than an exterminator’s.
“We just wanted to ask about the Flufficide, think I might’ve accidentally inhaled some last night, felt like I ate too many raw eggs with how nauseous I got. I don’t gotta worry about any long term effects or anything right?” Edwin inquired. The effects of Flufficide are pretty well documented on Fluffies, it’s a hyper specialized nerve toxin that in an average use case causes intense seizures, causing inflammation of the Fluffy’s weak lungs resulting in swift and relatively painless suffocation since the gas also causes them to lose consciousness shortly after being inhaled.
Of course some Fluffies have particular allergies to the chemical resulting in more extreme symptoms like complete liquification of the eyes or ejection of organs via the oesophagus and anus. In humans the symptoms are rarely ever known by most people since the chemical is widely advertised as completely harmless to anything that isn’t a Fluffy. That’s of course complete bullshit but the symptoms are very mild for what the toxin is. For humans, Flufficide causes mild nausea, headaches, and you might feel a bit shaky, and that’s in the case of heavy exposure, if you only get a whiff like Edwin did you’ll just feel a bit woozy for a couple hours at most.
I give Edwin a pat on the shoulder, a reassuring smile to calm him down, “Just make sure you drink lots of water and you’ll be fine, Flufficide is basically harmless to humans and the reagent is designed to disassemble itself after an hour or so, Hasbio’s way of making it eco-friendly.” Edwin and Miguel share a relieved sigh before thanking me and finally clearing the way for me to reach the gym.
Heading inside I spot Barry going on the rowing machine, the sound of the machine revving with each pull drowning out the generic electronic workout music that plays over the speakers on repeat. Not wanting to interrupt his flow, I walk past and into the attached medical bay, the medical bay was divided into two rooms, the waiting area and a soundproofed treatment room where the Fluffies are kept, the soundproofing making sure the gym noises don’t disturb them.
Walking in I was already met with Dr. Jessie Crown at the front desk sorting through her PC. She was a pretty girl though she’s hardly interested in looking good, too professional for that, I respect her for it. She wore her usual coat and medical scrubs with a pair of red prescription glasses and had her auburn hair tied into a ponytail. Looking up from her PC she had an annoyed look, probably expecting it to just be Peter trying to get in again, but she shifts to a relieved smile as she realizes it’s just me.
“Ah Mr. Alana, good to see you, I hope you’re doing well. Have you been taking your vitamins like I told you to?” On the orders of Hasbio she had prescribed me with some multivitamins to take daily, mostly vitamin-C since I didn’t really get out much beyond missions and fruits were always a second thought in my diet. “Of course Dr. right after dinner before I go to bed every night like you told me to.” this seemed to keep her good mood, we’ve known each other for a few months so she was well aware I was a terrible liar, according to her I scrunch my nose up whenever I lie, not that I ever noticed I did that.
“Are you here to see Cider and Butterball?” The name Butterball threw me off for a moment before I realized she was talking about the foal we brought in alongside Cider. “You’ve already named it? Dr. we don’t even know if we’re still keeping it or crushing it, I told you don’t get attached to any Fluffy we bring back.” As I say this, the doctor gives me a smug grin as she stands up from her desk and leads me into the care room, inside Cider was asleep in a decently sized enclosure made from a standard Hasbio home nest you could buy at any Fluffmart with high plastic walls and a soft mat. Of course since Cider was immobile from her pregnancy, the Dr. had placed her rear facing the litterbox to reduce mess and placing her kibble and water bowels in front of her.
Butterball, as the foal was now named, was kept in a smaller enclosure made to be as foal safe as possible with a fake teat filled with milkbag milk sitting in the middle, though strangely Butterball had gotten even fatter than when I had brought him in. And what really set off an alarm was that he was still actively suckling on it, a small pile of foal turds right next to his butt as he suckled away. The Dr. and I shared a glance, her face smiling and mine grimacing. “Is Butterball a-”
“He’s an SBS foal!” The Dr. proclaims with a giddiness in her voice, cutting off my question concerning Butterball’s mental state as she hops over to Butterball’s enclosure and gives him a soft pat on the back, causing him to lightly burp before returning to drinking milk from the fake mare teat. “Y’know what this means, right Mr. Alana?” The Dr. excitement wasn’t exactly met equally by myself as I glared down at Butterball. “Yeah yeah I remember our deal, you get to keep any SBS foals we bring in.” My dismissive acknowledgement of prior agreements elicits a chuckle from the Dr.
For whatever reason she was utterly infatuated with SBS foals, even among Hugboxers SBS foals were considered slightly undesirable due to their lazy nature making them terrible companions for kids, and Hasbio quickly learned the hard way that they absolutely should not be marketed as a way to teach kids how to care for Fluffies with how often they’d wind up horrifically dead due to either maliciousness torture from overly curious children, or ignorant abuse from, again, kids who don’t know any better.
Jessie on the other hand adored them, I’ve never visited her house but she apparently owns four of the damn things and Butterball would be her fifth. When I asked her why she loved them so much all I got from her was a vague answer of loving how dependant they were on her for survival. Maybe I’m too cynical but that always seemed like the biggest downside to me, but y’know how the saying goes about one abusers shitrat is another hugboxers widdle babbeh.
I sigh slightly, at the very least it’d save us time killing and disposing of the foal, the Dr. will take him home at the end of the day. Moving on to Cider, the Dr. and I walk over, her rotund stomach rising and falling at pace with her heavy breathing. “I feel kind of bad for her.” The Dr. comments quietly, you might assume she’s remorseful about Cider getting knocked up by a Feral, though it wasn’t just that. “You mean the abortion spaghetti right?” I reply coldly, the Dr. rewarding me with a cold glare.
“Can you not call it that? At least try to be professional about this…”
“Sorry, but you’ve gotta toughen up about this stuff Dr., Cider isn’t the first time we’ve done this and she sure isn’t going to be the last.” Sometimes I was a bit too harsh on her whenever she showed more of her Hugboxer side but with her position being overly empathetic to the Fluffies would quickly kill her mood or worse. “Cider’s going to wake up eventually, and you know that means I’ll have to ‘explain’ to her why all her babies are stillborn, so if you don’t want to hear this I recommend you wait at your desk, I’ll come out when I’m done.”
Jessie goes to argue, probably to ask why the foals never got spared, but given it was already too late for that and she knows it’s against company policy, hell I was putting myself at risk letting her take SBS foals back home with her, she gave me a nod before leaving the room. Almost on cue the moment Jessie shuts the door, Cider’s eyes shoot open, her breathing devolving into pained gasps as she screams “BIGGES’ POOPIES!!” the sudden screaming causing Butterball to chirp in distress though his sounds of discomfort were overridden by Cider’s constant screaming about bigges poopies. Walking around the side I saw as she shot out one, two, three, and finally four slimy, hairless, stillborn foals all the size of jellybeans, their unmoving corpses laying in a mix of afterbirth, blood, and shit in the litterbox.
As Cider finishes recovering from the intense pain of failed birth, she looks up at me wearily and shakily smiles. “Cidew… Cidew am mummah naow… hehe…” she giggles wearily, still catching her breath. “C-Can nice daddeh hewp bwing babbehs to Cidew…? Babbehs nee’ wickie cweansies fwom mummah…” her large eyes gazed up at me with a slight fear, still clearly shaken by the extermination that occurred last night, though fortunately Fluffies were rarely smart enough to hold onto any long lasting trauma.
With a sigh I reach down and prepare my best acting chops, and this time I can feel my nose scrunching slightly, thanks for that by the way Dr., and with my best feigned shock I gasp, causing Cider to glance back in worry.
“D-Daddeh…? What wong…? I-Is wittle babbehs otay…?” The distress in her voice was understated by her fatigue as I gather the four stillborn foals, their limp umbilical cords detaching with ease as I cup them in my hands and present them to Cider. “I’m sorry Cider, it looks like your wittle babbehs went ‘forever sleepies’.” I could feel a bit of bile in the back of my throat as I said that, having to even slightly mimic the baby talk of these things made me feel nauseous, but it was my job so I swallowed it down as Cider stared at my open hands in silent horror.
Finally as I set the stillborn foals down in front of Cider she gives one a slight nudge with her hoof, causing it to limply bob. “Babbehs…? Whai babbehs go foweba sweepies?” She asks my quietly, tears beginning to well in her eyes, time for the critical hit. “Well… your babies probably didn’t want such a bad mother like you.” I reply in the most matter of fact tone I could muster, the reply immediately directing Cider’s attention from her could’ve been babies, to me. “Bu’ Cidew am gud mummah! Ated wots o’ sketties tu make bestest miwkies fo’ babbehs!”
“Oh that was very good what you did, eating such good spaghetti to make the best milk for your babies, but you made one critical error.”
“W-Wha’ Cidew do wong…?”
“You got special huggies from a Feral of course.”
This seems to confused Cider for a moment before she responds after a few seconds of thinking “Cidew… Cidew bad mummah cuz’ speshuw fwien was Fewaw Fwuffy?” Textbook responses, start the mare on the road to the right conclusion, then tell her exactly what the right conclusion is. “That’s right, there’s nothing good babies hate more than a bad mother who gets special huggies from Ferals, do you want to know why Ferals are such bad special friends?”
“W-Wai…?”
“Because Ferals are filthy and mean! Your babies don’t want a disgusting Feral as a daddy, he would give them worstest hurties for almost no reason. Because Ferals don’t know right from wrong, they just do whatever they want. Unlike good Domestics like you, Cider.” I crouch down, placing a comforting hand on Cider’s head “But because you were with those bad Ferals, your babies didn’t want to live. They wanted to die so badly that they did, because you were going to force them to live as Ferals.”
“Cidew’s babbehs nu… nu wan’ be Fewaw…? Dat wai babbehs gu fowebah sweepies…?” Perfect. Now to give her an alternative before she starts bawling her eyes out in despair. “But don’t worry, now that you’re away from those disgusting Ferals we can help put you back where you belong!”
“Of course if your human daddy or mommy from before can’t take you back, we’ll take you somewhere with lots of very good Domestic Fluffies like you, and who knows maybe you’ll find a clean, respectable Domestic special friend who’ll give you the most wonderful and happy babies that you can give all the hugs, love, and best spaghetti milk to.”
“Cidew… can stiww be gud mummah?” This knocks Cider out of her emotional rock bottom immediately, thank God these things are dumb as rocks and change emotional states faster than a bipolar on crack. “Cider can still be very good mummah.” As I finish my chat with Cider, I scoop up the stillborn foals and dump them in a waste disposal bin along with discarded litter and various other waste. “I’ll leave you to think about that while I go and get you back to a comfy, warm house where you belong.”
With that I wave goodbye to Cider who clumsily waves her hoof at me. “Otay! Fank u fow hewping Cidew, nice mistah!” and with that I walk back to the front desk where Dr. Jessie Crown was sitting, nervously fiddling with the buttons on her coat.
“Alright, had a talk with Cider, she’s ready to return to Domestic life I think, dangles the promise of good babies in front of a mare and they’ll believe anything you say, haha!” My definitely unnecessary laughter earns me an annoyed look from the Dr. before I righted myself. “Sorry. Call up Cinder’s owner, if they don’t want her back we can just send her to the Fluffmart, she seems the loving mother type and chances are the Ferals didn’t infect her with any of the more undesirable traits in Fluffy mothers so she could make a quality breeder.”
Jessie just nods and starts typing at her computer, a pit in my stomach developing as I once again start feeling bad for her. This same thing happens every time I have to put down a Fluffy or feed a pregnant Mare the laced spaghetti, she feels bad and I feel worse for her. “Think of it like this,” I continue, grabbing one of the nearby waiting chairs and pulling it up in front of her desk, “If we let Cider give birth to live Foals she would’ve imprinted on them, gotten attached to them all. But we can’t let her keep them since her owner definitely wouldn’t want their beloved pet to now come with Feral foals as baggage, but it’d also limit her options at a Fluffmart.”
Jessie doesn’t respond but I can tell she’s listening as she stops typing at her computer. “If we let her bond with her Foals and then forcibly took them away to put them down, how do you think that would make Cider feel? Probably even worse, then she’d hate humans forever for taking her Foals away and would never be able to return to Domestic life. Then we’d have to put her down as well. Think of what we do as some small mercy we can give Fluffies like Cider, yes we’re lying to her face, but it’s sparing her from a truth that would bar her from ever finding happiness again.”
“You don’t have to pretend to care about Fluffies to make me feel better, Mr. Alana.” Jessie finally responded, locking eyes with me. “I’m a grown woman, I don’t need to be coddled like a child.” I returned her glare with a nod. “I know. I just worry about you sometimes I suppose, call it my underdeveloped dad genes kicking in since I never had any kids of my own.” Punctuating this with a slowly chuckle seems to help set Jessie at ease as she sighs and grabs her mug, taking a quick sip of it. “Well I’m sure we both have a lot to do, Mr. Alana. I won’t keep you here any longer.”
Nodding in reply, I stand up from my chair, moving it back into place as I turn to leave before Jessie clears her throat, causing me to stop halfway out the door. “Mr. Alana. Thank you, it’s probably annoying having to deal with someone like me but I appreciate you taking the time. Just don’t except me to start calling you ‘dad’.” At that we both share a quick laugh before I start closing the door. “Anytime, Dr. I think we all deserve from down time every once in a while. Give my best regards to Cider tonight.”
With that I leave the medical bay and start heading back to my desk, all the drama with Cider had almost made me forget about my email and it’s then that Barry meets me at the exit to the gym, a towel wrapped around his shoulders as he walks up to me.
“Sir. I think you should come see this.” Barry starts ominously as he opens the gym exit and directs me to the office hallway, where the rest of the team were gathered around the notice board all in various states of shock and disbelief.
I don’t think I’m going to be finishing that report today.
