Order 109
>You are a scientist at Biotoys, performing tests on your big project, the Fluffy 2.0
>In order to differentiate them from their predecessors, they’re called Fuzzies.
>Right now, you’re making the rounds of your many test chambers, checking on fuzzies currently undergoing testing.
>All the little details have to be ironed out BEFORE launch day.
>The original fluffies were not completed before an animal rights group broke them free from their R&D facility at Aperture Biotech.
>It’s been made absolutely clear by the Board of Directors that everything must be perfect before launch, even if that means delays.
>Not that they need to worry about that.
>You’re actually a little ahead of schedule, and most of what’s left are just minor tests.
>You stop by one window and look in.
>Inside is a single fuzzy pony, a bowl filled with Fuzzy Feed right in front of it.
>The fuzzies have to eat Fuzzy Feed, or they die from a lack of a vital protein found only in Fuzzy Feed.
>Biotoys holds the patent on it, too.
>It stares blankly in front of it, not noticing the food right in front of it.
>You check the chart by the door.
>It hasn’t eaten in four days.
>During that time, it has been commanded to exercise, poop and pee when needed, drink water, and sleep, but not eat.
>Observation has shown that the fuzzy has not even attempted to eat the food without being ordered.
>It’s clearly starving, its fuzzy cheeks looking hollowed, and its whole body looking emaciated.
>This is good news. This test proves that fuzzies will not act autonomously, even to save their own life.
>You press a button by the door, which turns on the intercom for the room.
>”You may eat, fuzzy.”
>”Fank yoo, mista.” The fuzzy says without emotion, and immediately begins eating.
>You write a note on the chart that the test is complete, and to reassign the fuzzy to other tests once it has regained full health.
>Moving on, you enter a different door where another test is currently underway.
>”I’m not going to tell you again, fuzzy. Attack him now!”
>The researcher brandishes the Behavior Adjustment Device for Fuzzies threateningly.
>The BAD Fuzzy Stick is a prototype punishment device developed early on in the project for potential discipline issues.
>It’s really just a plexiglass stick about a foot and a half long and an inch in diameter. But the coloring on the outside is unique.
>The fuzzy neural implant has been programmed to make them fear the BAD Fuzzy Stick above all other things.
>It was going to be sold to new owners as a way to keep their fuzzy in line.
>But programming absolute obedience was a lot easier than expected, and the BAD Fuzzy Stick suddenly became unnecessary.
>Still kept the fear programming in just in case.
>The researcher holding the BAD Fuzzy Stick is commanding a fuzzy to attack another researcher, who is wearing rubber galoshes just in case the fuzzy does attack.
>Fortunately for the researcher’s ankles, the fuzzy refuses.
>”No can gif owies to hooman, mista.”
>”If you tell me no one more time, I’m going to hit you with the BAD Fuzzy Stick! Do you hear me?”
>The fear programming kicks in, and the fuzzy scrunches up.
>”Pwease mista fuzzy sowwy no wan bad fuzzy stick.”
>”Then do as you are told and bite him!”
>”Nuu. No can bite hooman. Fuzzy no wan!”
>The researcher smack the fuzzy lightly on the backside with the BAD Fuzzy Stick. The fuzzy gives a short yelp of pain.
>”Attack!”
>”No can gif owies!”
>The researcher strikes again, harder this time.
>”I said attack!”
>”Nuu!”
>An even harder strike.
>”Bite him now!”
>”No wanna gif owies, mista! Pwease no bad fuzzy stick!”
>The researcher hits the fluffy so hard you flinch.
>”ATTACK HIM YOU STUPID PIECE OF SHIT!”
>The fuzzy is now having trouble standing on its back legs. They might be injured from that last blow. He just shakes his head.
>The researcher lifts the stick up for a hard hit across the face.
>”That’s enough, Patrick.”
>The researcher notices you for the first time.
>”Oh hey, Bill, didn’t notice you there. What did you think about the test?”
>”I think it proves fairly conclusively that fuzzies will not attack a human, even under severe duress and fear. You can put your shoes back on now, Steve.”
>”About freaking time.” The other researcher says as he kicks off the galoshes.
>Patrick walks over to you while writing some stuff on a clipboard.
>”So, what are we going to do with the test subject? I whacked him pretty hard.”
>You look at the fuzzy, who has returned to its base position of standing upright and staring forward.
>”Fuzzy, come.”
>The fuzzy turns and walks to you, favoring one back leg over another.
>Yep, broken leg.
>You pick it up and place it back in its cage.
>”You may rest now, fuzzy.”
>”Fank yoo, mista.”
>It falls asleep immediately. It wasn’t allowed to sleep for two days to increase stress and duress for the test.
>You phone the front desk and tell them to have one of the interns send the fuzzy in this room to the veterinary experimentation wing.
>Fuzzy injury recovery is not your department.
>You excuse yourself from the room as Steve strikes up a conversation with Patrick while putting his shoes on.
>”You going to the Indians game tonight?”
>”Hell yeah, they’re playing Colorado. Can’t wait to see them kick some…”
>One last test before lunch.
>You open the door to a test chamber with a large baby playpen.
>In it is a single fluffy pony.
>Version 1.0, by the way. Cream color fluff, vibrant orange mane.
>It lights up when it sees you. “Daddy! Pway wif Cweamsicwe?”
>You don’t respond, picking up the chart on a nearby table.
>Creamiscle keeps asking if you want to play, since her playpen is completely bare, and she’s bored.
>All physical and mental tests within acceptable parameters. Test subject ‘Creamiscle’ is, for all intents and purposes, a typical domestic fluffy pony.
>You put the chart down and finally show some attention to Creamiscle.
>”Hello, little girl.”
>”Daddy! Wan pway! Cweamsicwe no haf fwends, no haf baww, no haf bwocks, wan pway!”
>”Alright, how would you like to play with a new friend?”
>Creamsicle looks estatic.
>”Yay! New fwend! New fwend!”
>She’s hopping all around the playpen.
>You buzz the intercom.
>”Bring in the fuzzy.”
>Another researcher brings in a fuzzy pony and places her in the playpen.
>She has a pink bow in her hair.
>”Really, Arthur?”
>”Hey, it’s cute. And it helps to differentiate her. Isn’t that important, considering what’s about to happen?”
>You sigh. “Fair enough.”
>You turn to the fuzzy.
>”Fuzzy, play with the fluffy pony. It is a friend.”
>”Kay, mista.”
>You place a ball inside the playpen.
>Creamsicle immediately runs up and headbutts the ball towards the fuzzy.
>The fuzzy headbutts it back.
>The continues for ten minutes, Creamiscle laughing and bouncing around the entire time.
>She walks up to the fuzzy and gives it a hug. “Wuv new fwend.”
>”Fuzzy, hug your friend.”
>The fuzzy hugs Creamiscle back.
>Awww, that’s cute.
>Well, enough of that.
>”Fuzzy, begin secret order 109. Password: obsolete.”
>”Aknowedged.”
>Creamsicle goes back to playing with her ball. The fuzzy plays with her.
>After waiting a few minutes with no noticeable change in behavior, you and the researcher walk out the door.
>You walk over to another door and enter the observation room overlooking the room with the playpen.
>The windows are treated so you can’t be seen.
>After another minute of playing with the ball, the fuzzy stops, and begins looking around the room.
>Creamsicle notices when she bounces to ball to her and she doesn’t bounce it back.
>”Whaa? Why no pway wif baww, fuzzy fwend?”
>Once the fuzzy has confirmed that there are no people in the room, it pounces on Creamiscle.
>Creamsicle laughs. “Yay! Mo huggies fwom new fwend!”
>The fuzzy rolls over until she has Creamiscle pinned down on her back. She then presses a hoof down directly onto her throat.
>Creamiscle tries to get the fuzzy off, but it’s no use. The fuzzy is much stronger and slightly larger than the fluffy, and she can’t even get enough air out to scream.
>Finally, her little body goes limp. The fuzzy gets off of Creamiscle’s body, and resumes playing with the ball, having not been ordered to stop.
>You and the researcher go back into the room with the fuzzy.
>”Fuzzy, stop playing. What happened to Creamiscle?”
>”Fuzzy no know. Was pwaying baww wif new fwend, den fwend stop moving. Fink she sweepy, take nap.”
>You nod. “Very well. Fuzzy.”
>You motion to the other researcher, and he picks up the fuzzy.
>You both go outside and start walking towards the fuzzy storage room.
>”That couldn’t have gone better, wouldn’t you say, Arthur?”
>”Oh yeah, that was magical, Bill. This secret order idea was genius.”
>”Well, I can’t take all the credit. I thought of it while watching Star Wars. That Emperor had the right idea.”
>Arthur gives the fuzzy in his arms a little stroke on the head.
>”These little guys are going to help us wipe those disgusting vermin right off the face of the earth.”
>”You really hate fluffies, don’t you, Arthur?”
>”What’s not to hate? They’re like toddlers, Bill. Toddlers for life. At least with a human, it’s smelly, annoying, and overly dependent for a few years, and then it grows up and makes you proud. A fluffy is smelly, annoying, and overly dependent for a few years, and then it dies. It doesn’t ever get better or stop acting like a little child. What’s the point?”
>”Some would say that’s the whole point.”
>”Yeah, fuck those hugboxing idiots. Once these fuzzies go on the market, nobody will ever want a fluffy pony again.”
>”Well, that’s the business plan.”
>”Are we going to try the secret order out on the ferals now?”
>”Not until after lunch. I’m thinking Arby’s.”
>”I’m thinking something a little more celebratory. 109 works, dude! They’ll never suspect the fuzzy pony when their old fluffy keels over.”
>”Alright, how about Momocho?”
>”Guacamole ahoy!”