False Salvation [By MuffinMantis]

Judas turned away when he saw the new arrivals, trying to hide the pain on his face, the sudden wateriness of his eyes. It never got better, it was always just as painful as the first miserable day, but he had to hold on. As much as he tried to hate the new arrivals, as much as he tried to harden his heart, it still hurt just the same.

“Hewwo!” he called, fake cheerfulness in his voice. “Judas nu babbehs am scawed, but it am otay! Yoo-das wiww keep babbehs saef! Nu wiww wet anyfing huwt babbehs!”

One of the new arrivals, a mud-brown unicorn colt, made a pained gurgling noise, likely trying to speak, something that had likely only been possible for a few hours at most. Now it would never be possible again. Underground fluffmills tended to prefer not to have the cries of undesirable fluffies upset the valuable foals, so they cut the problem off at the source, severing the kibble-grade fluffies’ vocal chords.

Judas walked to the now-sobbing colt and embraced him, murmuring softly, offering what comfort he could. Again, the pain of what he knew would happened stabbed his heart, but he held strong. All he could do was offer these colts and fillies what hope and peace he could manage. Their fate was far beyond his control.

He lowered his voice, glancing nervously around the room. “Wisten. Judas hab pwan. Gon’ ‘scape. Wiww taek babbehs wif Judas, bu’ nee’ babbehs tu be stwong, be quiet. Nu maek noisies, nu wet hoomin nyo wut Judas am doin’.”

Another babbeh, this time an orange filly, made a pained noise, and Judas could practically hear what she was thinking, what she was trying to ask. Wai hoomins taek tawkie-pwace? Wai gib huwties! Wai nu wub babbeh? Babbeh am gud! Nu desewbe huwties! Wan tawkie-pwace!

“Judas nyo babbehs am huwt, bu’ Judas nee’ babbehs tu hewp. Nu can sabe babbehs awone. Pwease, bu gud babbehs, hewp Judas.”

A few of the smarter babbehs nodded, while others attempted to speak, growing yet-more agitated when they realized they couldn’t. Judas spoke again once they’d calmed. “Babbehs nee’ num aww nummies hoomins gib. Judas nyo nu am tasty nummies, bu’ babbehs nee’ be stwong fow wen fwuffies 'scape!”


Long Ago


“Bu’ wai meanie mistah wan Judas wie tu babbehs?”

“If they give up hope they’ll stop eating, they’ll get sick and be useless.”

“Gud! Judas nu wan munstah hoomins’ git wut wan!”

“Of course, we could always make up the difference in the amount of kibble produced if we just used some useless fluffies that are wasting space and food. Maybe some shit-colored foals and their shit-factory mummah. You know, the one whose pen you’ve been sneaking into?”

Judas began shaking uncontrollably. “Pwease nu.”

“Then do what I say. Do a good job and your mate and babbehs won’t be killed, we’ll just take them all to the good-fluffy pens once the foals are grown. How does that sound?”

“Judas wiww du it.”

“Good. And Judas?”

“'es?”

“Don’t feel bad. What you’re doing will make the foals happier, make them less scared and miserable. You’re helping them, too. Don’t forget that.”

“Nu wiww fowget.”

Present


“Wook,” he whispered, nudging a section of the pen wall, where it connected to a grate. It flexed under the slightest pressure. “Fwuffies wiww twy sneak ‘way. Hide untiw hoomins tink fwuffies am gone, fin’ way out! Den fin’ babbehs’ mummahs an’ hewp dem 'scape! Nu wiww wet hoomins huwt mummahs ow babbehs anymowe!”

He flinched imperceptibly as the foals noticeably perked up at this. Dis am gud ting! Am hewpin’ babbehs nu be scawed! he told himself for what seemed like the thousandth time. Out loud, he spoke again. “Am cowd-times outside, nu can wun ‘way nao ow wiww git cowdie-huwties an’ fowebah-sweepies! Nee’ stay hewe for wittwe whiwe, wet babbehs gwow big an’ stwong. Den 'scape!”



“It am time!” he told the foals one morning. “Judas wiww distwact hoomins, babbehs wun! Git 'way! Sabe mummahs!”

He pushed against the loose section of the pen wall, opening a gap just wide enough for the foals to fit through, allowing them to stream through into the grate. He ran to the other side of the pen and began wailing, pretending to be sick. The foals made fearful noises, flinching away from the darkness of the grate for a moment before dashing into the darkness, sliding along the angled chute.

When the last of the foals had gone, Judas quieted. He heard distant crunching sounds coming from the chute as the grinder minced the foals, and tried to ignore the horrific images that flashed across his vision each time be blinked. Tried to ignore the sound of the foals he’d duped falling headlong into their deaths.

Sobbing, he crawled to the hidden door on the opposite wall of the pen, pushing his way through into his nest. There, he watched the little screen showing his special-friend and now-grown babbehs, working in the good-fluffy room. He would never see them again in person, he knew, could never see them again, even when the humans offered.

If he saw them he knew he’d break down, tell them what he’d been doing to keep them safe, shatter the illusion they were living in. He couldn’t do that, couldn’t make them realize the monsters they were surrounded by, the gruesome machine they were a part of. Let them enjoy blissful ignorance, let them believe the humans genuinely cared for fluffies. And if they knew, there was no chance that they’d be allowed to stay.

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There’s a lot more exploration to be done in the realm of making fluffy obedient little helpers, if by choice or fear, all the same. Good stuff.

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Judas is doing a good thing.

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