You are at the waiting room in the Job Center. Thankfully, the waiting room is completely alone, so you won’t need to wait much. The receptionist calls your name and sends you off to room 3.
Inside the the room there is a fat man. He is wearing small, round glasses and he is balding. You can see he is wearing a white shirt, overalls and a red tie.
“I see you are Kevin. What can I do for you?”
“I-I’m looking for a j-j-job…” You mutter.
“Hey, aren’t you that guy that I saw on TV last night?”
Shit. It didn’t take him long to figure out who you are.
“Yes. I-is there something wrong?”
“Not really, I couldn’t care less for those shitrats. Actually, I got a job perfect for you. Barely takes any training and it suits your temperament greatly. How would you like to work at a fluffy-based kibble factory?”
“A what?”
“Oh you know, a place in which strays, rejects and other shitrats considered as undesirables are ground and mixed with flour and vegetables to make kibble for better shitrats and real pets. Using fluffy meat instead of chicken or beef really cuts down on the costs, while keeping a similar enough macronutrient profile. Most people end up quitting cause “it’s too cruel”, but they are just a bunch of pansies. The pay isn’t the highest, but that’s what you get from a low skill job anyways. So, what do you think?”
You never really thought that such a job could exist. Hell, this sounds like a job you could even enjoy.
“Sounds like a great deal, Mr…”
“David.”
“Right, Mr David.”
David hands you a printed paper with the location of the factory and the appointed date and time for the job interview. You get back home, happy that you will finally work your first job at 27 years of age.
As you enter the basement to feed your fluffies, you speak.
“Guess what shitrats? Daddy is gonna get a job, a job in which daddy will learn a lot about hurting fluffies like you, and may even bring a few fluffy friends to keep company, and possibly torture in front of you!”
“NUUUUUU, daddeh pwease, fwuffy need to hewp babbehs gwow big an strong, no mo’ hurties…”
You ignore the fluffy’s words and get to your room. Time to watch some anime.
You are no longer Kevin. You are now the mint green mummah mare.
You haven’t named your little baby boys yet. Not like you could, as you don’t even have a name yourself. Your “safe room” (a filthy, dark, dusty basement) is barely furnished. The floor is cold concrete, and the toys are incredibly sparse. All you have is a single ball and 3 wooden blocks. Mind you, they are completely plain, not even painted. The kibble you are fed is stale, old, and so hard you managed to crack one of your teeth. It hurts a lot, but you already got used to it.
The herd’s poopie mare is getting stronger since you have all been captured. She is now strong enough to give you sorry hoofsies when you dont eat her poopies. The pink mare is completely catatonic, so she can’t even help you against her. The poopie threatens your babbehs if you don’t obey, as if that wasn’t enough.
“Dumme gween mawe, eet poopies ow babbehs get foweba sweepies!”
She puts her hoof in your head, forcing your face to her fresh staming shit. You want to die, but the love for your children keeps moving you forward. You chew on her feces. You see that there are sketties in her poopies though. It’s wriggling sketties, so they must be extra special! You think to yourself that at least, there is some good in the bad, and resign yourself to eat your poopie sketti meal.
The poopie mare approaches your children, and urinates on them, as a show of dominance against you. This gives you the worstest heart hurties.
peep peep peep cheep cheep cheep cheep
HURK
Your wingie baby just threw up his milk, possibly due to the foul smelling piss he has been covered in. His pointy brother starts giving him huggies to make it all better.
“Dummeh mawe, ‘ou am not done yet.”
“H-huh? Wa’ fwuffy mean?”
The poopie mare forces her behind on your face.
“Give wickie cleanies NAO!”
“Huuuu-huuuu…”
You close your eyes and extend your tongue. “For babbehs…”, you think to yourself.
You are no longer the green mare.
You are now Hugboxman.
You are in your headquarters, commonly known as a basement.
You see your cork covered wall with information on several people and events. Many pictures and newspapers articles are linked around in string; in a schizophrenic network of confirmed and possible abusers.
You keep staring at your most recent operation. The first time you take action, and it had to be a catastrophic failure. You lost five of your soldiers and barely hurt those awful abusers. You can barely contain your rage at this. You currently only have 4 other soldiers in your “barracks” (a shoddily made pen in your basement’s corner).
“GOD FUCKING DAMNIT, I CAN’T BELIEVE MY SOLDIERS LOST TO THAT PATHETIC EXCUSE OF A MAN AND HIS GANG! AND I HAD TO ATTACK HIM THE DAY HE SELFISHLY HELPED AN OLD LADY TO LOOK LIKE A HERO! NOW EVERYONE IS GOING TO THINK HE IS THE GOOD GUY! FUCK!”
“Daddeh, pwease cawm do-”
You kick your pet fluffy, a piss yellow monochrome gelding you rescued from a shelter. You instantly regret what you did, and quickly apologize.
“Oh my God Zack, I’m so sorry… Daddy didn’t mean to-”
“SCREEEEEE DADDEH WHY! ZACK WUB ‘OU! HUUUUU-HUUUUU. NU MO HUWTIES, PWEASE NOT AGEN, HUUUUUU…”
“Zack please no, come on I will give you sketties. You love sketties don’t you baby boy? Please, please don’t hate me, you are all I have left in my life.”
“Huuu-huuuu… Otay dada…”
You begin nuzzling your recently abused fluffy. You swear you didn’t mean to, but sometimes, a force inside of you drives you to hurt these innocent creatures.
You rush your little fluffy to his saferoom and quickly serve him some tasty, microwaved Chef Boyardee spaghetti.
“Dank ‘ou dada…”
“Everything for my boy…”
This is unforgivable. That bastard Kevin made you so flustered he forced you to kick your precious little boy Zack. That is the most unforgivable thing that fat fuck nerd could have done. He made you hurt your fluffy. Next time you attack him, you will be smarter. You will catch him alone, unarmed and helpless. You will put an end to the abuse and avenge all the innocent fluffies he has hurt.
You learned recently, after stalking him enough, that he is going to get a job at a horrifying fluffy processing plant. This gives you the perfect chance to plan an ambush. You can see it just around the corner. When he leaves after his first day, you swear to yourself it will also be his last.
You are back to being Kevin.
It’s been some days since you went to the Job Center. Today you had your interview, and it has been a instant success. So much so, that you managed to get the job on the spot, no calls or nothing. It seems being a sadistic fluffy abuser and rapist has its perks in some jobs.
Right after you get home, you can see that the brown mare is bullying the green one. You never bother to correct this behavior, as it clearly amuses you. Maybe you could turn that brown mare into your “partner in crime” when it comes to fluffy abuse. Maybe even have her execute the mother in front of her foals once they enter their talkie phase. No matter, you have more important things to worry about right now than those shitrats. You gotta get ready for your first day of work tomorrow! You hop onto bed, and you fall asleep as you think about fluffies being ground into paste.
